To The Stars
by high improbability
Summary: They thought the kingdom would be tranquil forever. They were wrong. Listen to the tale of the citizens of Fantasia: of sword and sorcery, of love and lust, of loyalty and betrayal, and of dreams and freedom. 12: Elizaveta
1. Elizaveta

they thought the kingdom would remain tranquil forever. they were wrong. listen to the tale of the citizens of fantasia: of love and lust, of loyalty and betrayals, and of dreams and freedom.

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OKAY OKAY I KNOW LONGFICS YEAH YEAH

But I wrote this on a whim and my sister ended up reading it and _insisted _I post it. So here it is. And this is probably not going to be updated regularly, if it does get updated at all. In any case this was originally going to be a Romeo and Juliet Austria/Hungary thing. Only. No knights or mages or rogues or whatever. BUT THEN I played Final Fantasy XI (the Ivalice Alliance one), added a dash of Hetalia Phantasia, messed with the character relationships a little, and voila. Longfic idea.

The title (subject to change of course) is the English translation for the Latin phrase "ad astra." And this chapter is just a prologue. I already have the backstories and plot twists of sorts in mind, and I know what I'm going to do with about 75% of the Hetalia cast.

Also, Éliás, Kristin and Ada are unimportant minor OCs who represent Elizaveta's father, one of Vash's maids, and the head servant of the Héderváry family. Just thought I'd leave it in a note. Also Liesel is Liechtenstein.

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_In another time, in another place, there is a mystical land far from the likes you and I have ever heard of. It is a land of castles, queens, and magic, of forbidden love and betrayals. It is a land of Dragonism, where people wholeheartedly serve the Dragons of the Kingdom: five mythical beasts of great power over the elements. The four Great Mages that serve these dragons are selected from the large throng of magic-users, and are second to none save each other and the Royal Mage himself. The identities of these four are kept a tight secret, known only by the Royal Mage, the Queen, and a chosen few. _

_And when there is sorcery, there is sword. Those who wield the sword are known as Knights, who serve the Queen and are brave, courageous fighters willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of Fantasia._

_Or that's what they'd have you believe, because the kingdom's society is far from perfect._

_Because it's not just fun and games, you see. There are outlaws who serve nobody but themselves, and plenty of rifts among the citizens. There are strict social classes which love must not transcend: the nobility, at the top, who are the wealthiest and the most influential; the middle class, neither rich nor poor; and the peasants, who make up the majority. Even among the nobility, life is not easy. The economy is destabilizing, and arranged marriages are being set up left and right. There are some, of course, who accept this willingly._

_There is one girl who defies this. And this is where our story begins._

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**to the stars**

**Chapter 1: **Elizaveta

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The return of Éliás Héderváry was, as usual, greeted with plenty of chaos. Kindly Ada, left in charge when he wasn't there, would be overseeing the rest of the servants, who in turn would be making sure that the beds were all made, the floors and carpets nicely swept, the windows and mirrors dust-free and polished, the laundry done, the food cooking, and the shelves neatly organized.

On occasions like this his daughter Elizaveta would lock herself in her room and read.

It wasn't that Elizaveta didn't love her father – she loved him exactly as a dutiful daughter should. When he came back she would sit in his study and listen to his tales of his travels as a diplomat. Sometimes they would go horseback-riding (although she hated that accursed sidesaddle) and have a picnic lunch in the woods. He'd give her, his only child, everything she wanted – books, toys, pretty dresses –

- everything, that was, except permission to become a knight.

She had asked, argued, debated, begged, groveled, pleaded, appealed, all to no avail. She reminded him that she was his daughter, that they were a noble family, that the Héderváry family had a history of knighthood (her father had been the exception), that she'd already had enough knighthood training anyways, that how else was she supposed to defend herself, that the Zwinglis' son was already a knight and there was no reason why she should not be –

"There is," Éliás had interjected. "Dearest Elizaveta, you're forgetting you are a _girl_." If only she'd been male instead – he'd always noted she had the right spirit.

"But _Mother_ was a knight," Elizaveta had argued. "I don't see–"

"You know what happened to your mother, Elizaveta," he'd warned her. "I'm not about to let that happen to you."

With that he'd left the room without another word, not giving his daughter the chance to scream, _What happened to her was an_ accident_! _Or _I'm _not_ Mom! Stop treating me like I'm going to break!_

That particular return, however, was different. Instead of the usual debate over knighthood at dinner, Éliás had dropped another bombshell.

"You're getting married."

Elizaveta almost spit out her tea, then remembered she was a lady. "Pardon?"

"I told you." Her father's eyes had a slight twinkle to them. "An arranged marriage."

This time she really _did_ spit out her tea, although she hurried to hide it. "T-to whom? Why?"

He smiled. "To the Bonnefoys' son, Francis. He's a charming young man, I tell you."

"_Francis_?" While Gilbert had always told her that Francis was a decent guy, she could remember he was part of the reason she started carrying a frying pan around until her father had confiscated it, proclaiming it 'unladylike.' "Father, of all the people to _possibly_ – _why Francis_? Why am I getting married in the first place?"

"As I'm sure you know the Bonnefoy family is in the Queen's inner circle," he reminded her matter-of-factly. "Marrying into the family would raise our social status. And you are nearing eighteen years of age – I'm sure you're prepared for this, dear, there have been plenty of suitors for your hand, and Francis was the most outstanding one of them."

She frowned. "So basically this is all just for _reputation_?" she spat out.

His eyes flashed. "We've talked about this before, Elizaveta."

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Later that night Elizaveta slipped into the garden unnoticed and whistled.

Immediately he came out to see her, him with his tall stature and refined elegance for one of his social status, him with his sharp indigo eyes and wavy brown hair.

His name left her lips before she could think. "Roderich."

"Elizaveta." Her name sounded so beautiful on his lips. "Good evening."

She suppressed a smile. "How long have you been here?"

"Not very long," he replied. "Perhaps about…ten minutes?"

"And Ada didn't catch you?"

"When does she?" he quipped, and leaned down to steal a kiss.

Elizaveta flushed. "Don't."

Roderich stopped. "Why not? Have they found out?" he asked with sudden alarm.

"Roderich, no." Green eyes met indigo. "I – I'm engaged. Father set me up with Francis Bonnefoy."

Something broke then, Elizaveta could tell. Something in Roderich shattered, and he looked at her with a despondent, sorrowful look. "Does he know…about us?"

Elizaveta shook her head miserably. "I was planning to tell him at dinner. But he told me about Francis, and what could I do about that?"

He blinked. "I don't suppose you…_care_ for Francis?"

"No!" She looked at him as if insulted. "Francis is a womanizing freak. He's nice enough when he's sane, but…" She trailed off and continued in a quieter tone, "Father said their family is incredibly wealthy. The Queen _loves_ them. He thinks that if he had Francis as a son-in-law, he would get back into the Queen's good graces." She sighed. "I really am sorry, Roderich."

Roderich's face was distraught. "Don't be, love. I'm only sorry I can't give you what he can."

She sighed again and placed soft fingers on his chest. "If only you were a noble…"

He looked pained. "Elizaveta, I–"

She looked up at him. "Yes?"

"No, it's nothing." He turned his gaze to the sky. "It's a lovely night."

"Yes." She smiled sweetly. "Can you play something?" she whispered.

"The servants will hear," he reminded her.

"I don't care."

He gave her one of his rare smiles, and took out his always-on-hand violin. And she remembers what a skillful violinist he was, what a skillful _mage_ he was, as the moment the bow touched the strings the flowers began to bloom in the middle of the night.

"Earth magic," he'd told her once. "My specialty." And she'd loved him. He was wonderful. He was everything she'd ever wanted.

Only he wasn't a noble. He was a traveling bard, the kind of mage who used music to convey their magic. And she was the heiress to the Héderváry name. Society forbade it.

_Star-crossed lovers. The Romeo and Juliet of their time_.

She hadn't minded, for the time being, as long as she was Elizaveta and he was Roderich and they were together. But now, she didn't know what to do.

"I love you," she murmured. She didn't want to worry about that now.

He smiled. "I love you too."

The servants did not hear, and she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder as the strains of the violin echoed into the night.

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Gilbert took the news of the engagement well. "Francis is awesome!" he'd told her. "And besides, Veta, you could do worse." But then he'd asked her about Roderich – she _knew_ she was a fool for telling him, but she had to tell _someone_ – and she hadn't known what to answer.

Vash, however, did not take it well. "Francis?" he'd snapped. "Oh, Lord. I pity you, Elizaveta."

Elizaveta knew the reason he was crankier than usual was because of Liesel. She remembered her as Vash's sweet-tempered, kind-hearted little sister who had a fondness for animals and adored her brother beyond everything, despite her dislike for knighthood. And Vash and Elizaveta had loved her back. Only she'd gone missing three weeks prior.

The Héderváry family and the Zwingli family had been good friends for several generations, and although Elizaveta hadn't seen much of Vash as a child – despite being her age he'd refused to play with anyone, declaring himself "neutral" or some crap like that – she still saw him as the brother she'd never had.

Him and Gilbert, in any case, only Vash didn't know about her and Roderich. Elizaveta thought she'd already taken enough of a risk by telling Gilbert.

Anyway, seeing Vash as a brother meant seeing Liesel as a sister, and Elizaveta did just that -which meant she searched for the girl whenever she could, and shared Vash's anguish. Like she was doing now, after she'd told him the news of her engagement.

"What bastards took her?" he growled, slamming his fist on the table, making the china rattle. "Who would _dare_?"

"Hey, Zwingli," Gilbert said, stuffing a piece of cake down his throat, "Maybe she _wasn't_ kidnapped. Maybe she ran away."

Elizaveta kicked him under the table. "Idiot! What reason would she have for doing that?"

Vash expressed his feelings with a glare directed at Gilbert. "Honestly, _Beilschmidt_, if you weren't over for afternoon tea…"

Gilbert ignored him. "Can you ask for some more cake? It's awesome. Give my best regards to the chef."

Vash sighed and called for Kristin to come and bring more cake and tea in.

Highborn as well, Gilbert and his little brother were the grandsons of one of the Royal Knights, the highest order of knighthood possible which very few attained within their lifetime. And his high social status meant friendship with people of his class – namely, Elizaveta and Vash. Mostly Elizaveta, considering Vash's childhood 'neutrality,' but all was well and good.

"Change of topic," Elizaveta declared, taking a sip of her tea. She looked at Vash. "How's the military?"

"Pretty good," Vash replied. He had a real talent for archery, having scarily good aim, but he preferred to fight with a sword anyway. "I may or may not get promoted to Lieutenant next week."

"Great!" Gilbert chortled. He'd started serving earlier than Vash had, and was already a General. "Oh, _Vashie_. Soon we'll be on equal ground, and I'll have nothing to hold over you!"

The shorter young man glared at him yet again.

"Military's mages getting along well?" Elizaveta cut in. The previous year, there had been a scuffle between the military mages, which slowly grew more violent until it left six people dead. Since then the military higher-ups had been keeping an eye on the mages.

"Well enough." Vash shrugged. "Father still doesn't like them, though."

"I never really understood that," Elizaveta noted, thinking of Roderich and his talent for magic, and decided that she made the right decision by not telling Vash. "Why does your family hate mages so much?"

"Liesel didn't," Vash said with a pained look, and shrugged again. "My father said it stemmed from way back. My family had this really precious and important…thing, and some mages conned them into selling it or something."

"And that was _how_ long ago?" Gilbert asked, sharing a look with Elizaveta.

"Fifty? A hundred? Who knows?" Vash near-slammed his head on the table. "I just want my sister back, okay?"

"I'm sure they'll find her," she told him, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"They'd better," Gilbert laughed. "I forgot Liesel owed me money."

Elizaveta stomped on his foot. "In any case, I have to go," she told them. "I have a _meeting_ with Francis at four." She spat out the name as if it was a curse. "There's a dinner afterwards at seven, by the way," she added. "Our _engagement party_." She rolled her eyes.

"Do I have to see you to the door?" Vash mumbled.

"No." Elizaveta put on her coat and thought she _really_ needed more girl friends.

"Good luck," he replied numbly, his head still buried in the table. "Remember to act like a lady. If you hear any news of Liesel at all–"

He knew her too well. "Tell you, I know."

"Send Fran my best regards," Gilbert called out.

"Of course," she replied with just a hint of bitterness. "See you in a bit." She walked out the door, thinking of womanizing fiancés and star-crossed lovers and missing little sisters and wondering what was up with her life.

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**So sorry for spamming with this. Review anyway?**


	2. Antonio

**Hiyar. This is like a short, brief interlude introducing a few more characters (Spain, Belgium, and Holland, + South Italy kinda). They'll do more later on. **

**Also I'd like to note Austria/Hungary (and Prussia/Hungary and maybe a little Switzerland/Hungary if I feel like it C:) will be one of the pairings, but it will not be the main plot of the story. And there will be more pairings to come. I'm like a shipping whore. I will ship ANYTHING. :D**

**Here goes!

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**to the stars**

**Chapter 2: **Antonio

Antonio wondered what the people in Fantasia City were doing at the moment, and then laughed it off. People in the City, actually _working_? What a _joke_.

He took a deep breath and lifted the hoe, bringing it down to the ground in one smooth swoop, the happiness and triumph at actually finishing the job filling him. He took a swig of water, relishing the cool fluid running down his throat. _God_, this was exhausting.

"How's it going?" he heard someone say behind him. He turned, and his face lit up.

"Bella!"

She grinned, emerald eyes sparkling. "Lars told me to bring this over to you," she said, handing him a loaf of bread. "Thought you might be hungry. The bakery just closed for the day."

Antonio took the loaf and inhaled its scent, suddenly feeling energized once again. "_Gracias_, Bella. It still feels warm. Straight from the oven, I presume?"

Bella nodded, giving him her trademark smile. "So really, Antonio, how's the plowing going?"

"I'm done!" He grinned at her. "I'm going to begin sowing the tomato seeds tomorrow."

"That's great!" she replied. "They say it's going to be a good harvest here in the West this year."

"When isn't it?" he jibed, patting her on the shoulder. "Really, I wish our country didn't have such bland names for provinces."

She looked at him strangely then laughed. "You're right. I mean, North, South, East, and West? There are so much more creative names out there."

"And then the almighty City," Antonio sighed.

"Long live the Capital."

Antonio linked his arm through hers. "Let's get going," he said. "Lars will be waiting."

Bella beamed at him.

They reached the home they shared, which somehow looked cool and cozy despite the unusually warm weather – "He's on the decline," she'd declared of her brother – and knocked on the door. "Brother? Lars? You in there?"

They heard a crash and Lars' deep voice giving something that vaguely resembled a yelp. "Coming, Bella!" he called. There was a scuffling of footsteps and Lars, in all his tall, muscular glory, opened the door, panting. "Bella. Antonio."

They sat down at the square dining table, with Bella putting out the dinner. "We got a letter from Lovino today," she proclaimed, grinning.

Antonio's head snapped in her direction. "Really? From our dear Lovi?"

Lars smiled inwardly – Antonio knew he'd probably steamed it open and read it himself. "Yes. He says he's doing well in the military, although he detests his commanding officer."

"He's found his brother and he's living with him," Bella added cheerfully.

"You mean sweet Feliciano?" Antonio asked. She nodded.

"And we were so worried for him, too," Antonio sighed. "I hope he'll do fine as a knight."

"He has the perfect character for it, too," Lars chortled. "I'd like to know his hit count once he gets back."

Bella glared at him – Antonio knew she hated it when people fought. While she could defend herself pretty well, she detested it when she foresaw people coming to blows. Always a pacifier, this girl.

"Take it," she told him, handing him a cream-colored envelope.

Antonio opened it - it really was Lovino's angry, rushed scrawl, telling him being away from them was probably good for the soul and that Feliciano was a horrible housekeeper and that he hated the City's horrible store-bought tomatoes and had begun growing his own. He kept referring to his commanding officer as a "potato bastard" for reasons unknown, but he was doing marvelously and was already moving up the ranks after three weeks. _He's growing up, almost_.

"Hey, Lars, why don't you join?" Antonio asked. "It seems to be the fad nowadays." He noted all the young men from their little village who grew up ecstatic to become knights – oh, the wonders and valor it could bring you! They longed to feel the thrill of battle; they longed to know how it felt to swing a sword for their country. In all honesty, he couldn't blame them.

"The same reason you don't join," Lars deadpanned.

"Touché." Antonio smiled. "You know I'd never leave you guys."

He was right. There was a reason Lovino's leaving them for the city, his brother – his _real_ brother – and the glory of the military hurt so much: it was as if he was actually family. It wasn't like Antonio had grown up having any, and Bella and Lars only had each other. Antonio adored the younger man, but he knew his place was with his brother. And going after him meant leaving Bella and Lars to tend to the farm, to the bakery, and to their lonely hearts.

He remembered why they were together in the first place: he could see it almost as if he were in Bella's shoes. Her father: beaten to death by a City soldier for reasons Lars had always hid from her. Her mother, going insane out of grief, not even thinking of her own two children, leaving the siblings to fend for themselves. Lars, thirteen then, had taken his then-eight-year-old sister and run for it, bumping into a twelve-year-old Antonio, also an orphan (_why_ he was an orphan, though, they didn't know), on the way. Together they'd made it to this secluded village in the West, where all three of them had been adopted by a kindly old farmer whose farm was not doing so well. He'd died soon after, leaving his property to them. And together they'd made it into what it was today. Lovino had joined them later, being sent away by his noble grandfather to 'learn some manners' or crap like that, but they still welcomed him with open arms: they wanted to be the loving family they were never able to experience themselves.

Lars was right. Antonio would never leave them. Lovino, Lars, and Bella were the relatives he never had.

"What else is going on in the world?" He flipped over the newspaper. "New Great Mage appointed?"

"Yes, for our province this time," Bella told him. "The last one kicked the bucket a week ago, remember? I remember he was really old."

"They seem to be dying off," Antonio noted. "Didn't they just replace the one for the South three months ago? And the one for the East before that?"

"And the Great Mage for the North, too."

Lars' mouth twitched in what appeared to be a smile. "Really, you'd think the dragons were picking off the Great Mages or something."

"_Lars_," Bella warned dangerously. She turned to Antonio. "Shame we never find out who or where they are."

"True. I'd love to go up to them and ask them how to ride a dragon."

"_Antonio!" _She stuck her tongue out, and then her face reverted back to its serious form. "You know that they can't be disturbed in case of times of extreme emergency! Every time they turn their backs the dragons do something horrible."

"What _does_ happen if a dragon dies?"

"Then we, dear Carriedo, are screwed." Lars got up and began putting away the dishes. "Elemental imbalance, yadda yadda yadda. For example, if the water dragon gets picked off, there'll be floods in the East and droughts in the West. You know the drill."

Antonio picked up the newspaper again and flipped through it. "Hmm. Prices for tomatoes goes up, that's good, I guess…Prince appears at some play, whatever…and Count Francis Bonnefoy and Lady Elizaveta Héderváry engaged? Who the hell are they?"

"Noble kids living in the City, obviously," Lars muttered. "Their parents answer directly to Her Queenliness herself. Article says they're having 'the wedding of the century,' personally funded by the Queen herself. And _that_ is where our tax dollars go to." He muttered something else and began washing the dishes.

Bella averted her gaze. "You know, I wonder how they do it – hog up everything, I mean." She shook her blond waves, and he knew she was thinking of her parents, and all the hardships they'd had to go through just to be able to pay the tax she _knew_ was going to all the noble families who probably had people to do all their work for them.

Antonio looked at her. "Hey, Bell. Just remember…the City people, they're not better than us, okay? Just luckier." He ruffled her hair like he used to do when they were younger.

"Nice to know we were on equal ground with them, though."

"Oh, Bella, really, you're not being optimistic for Fantasia!" He beamed at her. "Someday, everyone will be equal. There will be no such things as a 'noble' and a 'peasant.' The Queen herself will be just an ounce higher than the rest of us." He threw his head back. "Someday, there'll be proper railroads to every village in the country. So many more people will be able to read and write."

"And when will that be?" Lars groaned. "When I'm a doddering old man."

They sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments when Antonio's voice shattered it.

"Who says we'll have to wait?" he asked suddenly, and his eyes flashed with something fearsome they hadn't quite seen before.

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**Hetalia isn't mine, dearies.**

**Review?**


	3. Erik

**A/N: Trust me, I am normally not this reliable when it comes to updates. I just wanted to remind everybody that this is a story of "sword and sorcery," meaning there will be magic, which will be (partially) introduced in this chapter. **

**Erik is Iceland. Cookies if you can guess which of Yao's siblings is which.**

**I do not own Hetalia.

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**to the stars**

**Chapter 3: Erik

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Sometimes Erik didn't remember where he was, or how he got where he was then. He barely remembered the time before he'd started 'walking the country,' as somebody long ago had called it. He knew there was magic involved. And he knew there was a brother somewhere that he wanted to beat.

Here in the East, where he was currently staying, they held memory in high esteem, which seemed to make sense considering they were a sentimental people. The East specialized in wind magic (they did have the wind dragon, of course), which made their people formidable healers as well as powerful attackers. Heck, the Battle Healer herself, the military's top medic, was an East native – he remembered seeing her in action in the City: she moved with the cat-like grace of the Easterners as she launched sharp wind after sharp wind at her attacker while sending healing magic to her comrades.

He'd wanted to meet their Great Mage. He wondered what he – they _were_ male, right? – was like. Was he anything like the North's Mage? Did he live in a cave or in some lavishly decorated tower or something? Was the dragon cool-tempered like the North's or hot-blooded like he heard the South's was? It really was a shame that only the Mage's family and/or a few select people knew who or where they were. One should count themselves lucky if they knew even a Mage's _gender_. And while it was possible to inquire, nobody did it out of either fear or respect, and if they dared the authorities would label them as some conspirator or something. As a result the Great Mages were shrouded in myth.

After this, he made a mental note to get to the West and find some way to meet their Mage. And if he could, their dragon. (Like that was possible, he laughed to himself)

But anyway. As an extremely pale-haired Northerner with strikingly-colored eyes he knew he'd be easy to spot in this province of dark hair and eyes, and if anyone got wind of where he was (no pun intended there) he knew his brother would know. And his brother couldn't see him. Not yet.

So Erik had gotten temporary hair dye and some contact lenses and had it not been for his unnaturally pale skin he could say he could pass for an Easterner.

Today, Yao seemed unnaturally chipper for a mage normally moaning about his siblings who'd all left him (Erik knew he meant "find their own paths in life," but it was hard not to feel sorry for him once you saw his sad face) – he was the Battle Healer's brother, Erik had heard somebody say, _and_ he had another sister who was reportedly also a wind mage, another brother who was a wandering healer, and three other siblings – or were they cousins, gossip wasn't really the most predictable thing – who were close-range fighters. The talent for surviving Fantasia apparently ran in the Wang bloodline.

Also, Yao looked extremely young for a mage of his caliber: he looked to be in his early twenties, while his military sister looked to be around nineteen. Talented family, this.

Yao looked him over with those eyes – even he, Erik's own teacher of wind magic, did not know about Erik's past. Instead he knew the cover-up: that he was an Easterner who'd grown up in the North, and who'd come back to the East a few days ago to learn more about his roots, which explained the funny accent and his little to no knowledge of Eastern customs (and Yao would of _course_ teach him: wind magic was one of the best, after all).

If Yao knew the real past, of course, he'd probably stick Erik on the next ship to the North. Or magically transport him there, whatever.

"You seem nervous, aru," Yao said suddenly.

Erik's head snapped up. "Huh? Oh."

Yao grinned at him. "Probably reminiscing, huh? Good for the soul."

Erik nodded hurriedly – he could feel another one of the man's stories coming on. Yao adored talking about 'the old days,' which usually meant his siblings/cousins/whatever were not in their rebellious phases yet. "Er…yes."

"You know, this morning I remembered one day when my sister came home with a box of dumpling-making ingredients." It was always like this – his family members, cousin or not, were always referred to as 'my brother' or 'Brother' or 'my sister' or 'Sister.' Erik never pressed for names.

Yao went on to talk about how his siblings tried to make meat dumplings – _tried_ being the keyword, with one of his brothers getting flour in his hair and one of his sisters absolutely _refusing_ to touch the meat, and how another sibling nearly set the kitchen on fire. Occasionally he'd throw in a comment about how wonderfully adorable they were – "So talented, too, aru!" Yao clasped his hand together. "I was _so _proud when the higher-ups came knocking, said they were needing a Great Mage–"

He clamped his mouth shut immediately, as if he'd said too much.

Erik gaped at him. One of Yao's siblings was a Great Mage! He told himself to ask around later.

"Well," Yao said hurriedly, "How about we start today's lesson? If you'd like to know how to do those sharp winds, I could show you."

Erik nodded; his mind busy. He wondered which one of his siblings the Great Mage was. Definitely not one sister, the one he knew was the Battle Healer. Perhaps the sister who was a wind mage? Or the wandering healer – Great Mages didn't have to stay in one place, after all. The three siblings/cousins/whatever who were close-ranged fighters could be mages on the side.

He mentally slapped himself. If Yao didn't want to tell him, then he had no business knowing.

Erik was okay when it came to wind magic. He could control it well enough, and could even levitate for a few seconds. But Yao…if Erik was three and a half on a one-to-ten scale of wind magic mastery, Yao was probably a thirteen. The man was just that strong that inwardly his pupil wondered why he wasn't the Great Mage himself.

"Now just bend your palm like this," Yao was saying. "Channel your energy into your palm." He demonstrated, bending the tip of his fingers just the tiniest bit and suddenly a ball of wind appeared in his hand.

Erik followed suit.

"Spread your fingers wide, aru," Yao told him. As he did so the ball of wind bent into a boomerang shape.

Erik did so.

"Then aim and fire!" Yao thrust his palm out at a nearby bush, and the wind surged forward, slicing two or three branches cleanly off the plant. He grinned at Erik, looking very pleased with himself. "Now you try, aru."

Erik imitated him – the boomerang was almost exactly like Yao's, although it missed the plant completely.

"Eh, you will learn." Yao smiled at him – he was at his most cheerful when doing magic.

The day went by quickly, with Yao making him perform the exercise over and over until he was able to trim the aforementioned plant neatly into a cube, and then giving him several moving targets to shoot. Erik did everything with ease and zeal: he wanted Yao's approval. And that wasn't all.

"You're very talented, aru," Yao said after everything was done. They were sitting on the mage's front porch, eating noodles and watching the setting sun. "Did you study magic before you returned to the East?"

Erik flushed. "Er, yes, I did. Water magic, l-like they do in the North."

"Could you perhaps show me a sample, aru?" Yao smiled again and took a swig of soup.

Erik did so, focusing his energy on a puddle on the road. The water rose up and formed a face: a face with the exact same features as Yao's. And then immediately his concentration broke and the chiseled picture collapsed back into a puzzle.

"That's fantastic, aru!" Yao exclaimed, staring transfixed at the puddle. "Did you learn that by yourself? And you're only sixteen!"

The younger boy's face grew hot. "Um, no. I had a teacher. A-and it's really still not that great."

"You had a teacher?" Yao's face turned skyward. "I'd like to meet them, aru."

"You wouldn't," Erik muttered. "I – I mean, you couldn't," he corrected himself hurriedly.

"Well, why not, aru?"

"My – my teacher, you see – he's very busy."

"Ah." Yao's face relaxed into that serene smile that looked so at home on his porcelain fixtures. "Well, send him my best regards, then." His face lit up then, as if he'd had an idea. "How about I teach you everything I know about wind magic, and you teach me everything you know about wind magic, aru?"

Erik's face turned a million shades of red. "Oh, no! I – I couldn't possibly–"

"Oh, come now! As fellow Easterners it's our duty to help each other progress, is it not?" Yao's tone was cajoling, but in his eyes there seemed to be some determination.

Erik almost froze. Did Yao know? "Oh, why not?" He laughed nervously. "I'm not the best teacher, though."

"That's alright, aru." Yao's face was relaxed again. "It's just been so long since I've taught anyone anything. My siblings seem so long ago, so far away, aru! And after I'd gone to such great lengths to raise them properly…" He sighed. "You know, Erik, so many people come to me, asking me to become their teacher, aru. I turned each and every one of them down." He paused. "But do you know why I let myself teach you?"

Erik shook his head. What was he supposed to say in this situation?

Yao continued. "I let myself teach you because I saw talent in you, Erik. Potential. You have a _gift_ for magic that not many people have. I know you can become somebody great, aru." He smiled reassuringly, and then sighed as if scolding himself. "I told the same things to my siblings, too. And look where they are now, aru. My family, I'm so proud of them."

Yao's Great Mage mystery sibling revisited Erik's mind, and he grimaced. He and his teacher really were so different.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, looking away. "I – I promise. I'll try to make you proud."

Yao's eyes flickered with a hint of affection. "That's good, Erik, aru. Now you'd best get going, it's getting rather late." He patted the boy on the head and disappeared into the house. "See you tomorrow!"

The sun dipped below the horizon, and Erik was left standing on Yao's porch. "Okay," he whispered, then ran down the road until he got back to the inn he was staying in, locked the door, and that was when he finally let the tears fall. He wept into his pillow and wondered what would happen if Yao found out why he really was in the East.

* * *

**What _is_ this?**

**Review! C:**


	4. Francis

**to the stars**

**Chapter 4: **Francis

* * *

"Why, yes, Vash, of course you and dear Gilbert are going! Am I giving you much of a choice here?"

A pause.

"Oh, now you're going to make Elizaveta unhappy! You can't go around making my fiancée unhappy, now, can you? And she's your _friend_ as well–"

Another pause, only this time the person on the other line was speaking more rapidly and more furiously.

"Vash, dear – oh, don't yell like that, fine, I'll stop calling you dear – okay, yes, you'll come? And you'll bring Gilbert? Yes. Fabulous. See you at seven!"

Francis hung up. Sometimes his friends seemed so confused on whether or not they were actually his friends or not. In any case, Vash and Gilbert were coming over for his and Elizaveta's engagement party – they'd have better, just look at the all-star casting he'd bothered to put together – he'd even gotten his dear old friend the Royal Mage to come on over! The Queen had even winked at him and hinted that she was going to drop by.

The _Queen_!

Elizaveta would love him so now, wouldn't she? A chance to raise the Queen's opinion of her father! He knew Éliás Héderváry wasn't doing a very good job of keeping up relations with the neighboring kingdoms – and that was bad. Very bad. If that kept up, it was not just the soldiers and the peasants that would suffer, but also the aristocracy.

Himself included.

Enough about this. Francis disliked talking about trouble. Especially trouble that could possibly put him in danger.

And it wasn't that Elizaveta wasn't lovely herself: she was beautiful, even by Francis's standards, with those darling emerald eyes and those silky chocolate tresses. Her attitude was one to behold, too: not the dainty, pathetic faces of the high-class ladies her age, the ones who would so wholeheartedly throw themselves at him, but someone who wasn't hesitant to beat somebody to a bloody pulp if they every crossed her the wrong way.

In any case, the fact that it was three-thirty, Elizaveta was to be around in half an hour, and a knock on the door jolted him back to reality. "Come in."

Angelique entered the room, her hair in its usual ribboned pigtails and the white of the maid uniform a stark contrast to her dark hair and lightly tanned skin. Her caramel eyes were apprehensive, as if waiting for something to pounce on her.

"Ah, Angelique. What is it?"

Angelique flushed. "Er, well, the Head Chef told me to tell you that we have run out of ingredients for the bouillabaisse."

Francis raised an eyebrow at her. "Darling, that is not a problem. Just have someone run to the market and buy the necessary ingredients."

Angelique bowed hurriedly. "Y-yes sir. I-I'll tell the chef that…"

He was off the couch in half a second, one hand pushing the door shut and the other cupped around her chin. "Oh, now, Angelique, why are you in such a hurry?"

Angelique's face turned an even deeper shade of red and she averted her gaze. "Well, s-sir – Lady Elizaveta will be here within the hour, and…"

"But an hour is such a long time, now, is it not?" Francis laughed and inched his face closer to hers.

"But Sir–" Angelique was breathing heavily now – "There is still so much yet to be done–"

"Trifles," Francis interrupted. "Now, if it were up to me–"

A door slammed somewhere in the mansion and there was the sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs.

"Frog! Where the bloody hell are you? The one day I decide to come early–"

The door to the room swung open, missing Francis' face by inches.

Arthur stood in the doorway; his emerald green eyes alight with fury, embarrassment, and exhaustion. He blinked and assessed the situation in the room: Francis and Angelique against a wall –

Francis blinked. "Arthur," he breathed. "You didn't tell me you were coming early."

"FRANCIS!"

* * *

Vash hung up.

"Lemme guess," Gilbert said, "He won you over and we're going to the party."

Vash glared at him.

"Thought so." His companion put his pal against his chin. "Fran has a way with words, really."

"Why do you think I worry for Elizaveta?" Vash snapped. "You don't think I've heard of Bonnefoy's 'reputation?' That's why we're going, remember? We are _going_ there to keep an eye on those two and make sure nothing bad happens. I _told_ Francis I was going because I was her friend and not because I cared for _him_ and his silly atrocities in the _least_." He heaved a sigh and Gilbert knew he was thinking of his sister.

"Oh, Zwingli, don't you want my friends to be happy together?"

"Francis may be happy. Elizaveta is most definitely not."

"_Touché_." Gilbert grinned. "But don't forget, there'll be hot girls at the party."

He quickly averted his gaze as not to see Vash's glare again.

* * *

Elizaveta arrived at the Bonnefoy manor in a flourish, with her green dress long and flowing and her hair in its beautiful curls. She smiled at the young maid who opened the door: whose pigtails were disheveled and whose face was flushed and panting. She figured working in such a huge house such as this was pretty tiring.

"Mr. Bonnefoy will see you now," the girl told her, showing her into a room. She gave Elizaveta a quick nod and scampered down the hallway.

Elizaveta lingered outside the room, listening to the voices that floated through the door.

"_Francis_, what the bloody hell were you thinking?"

Another voice, definitely Francis's. "But _Arthur_, Angelique is so pretty! She'd grown so much since we found her on the street that I couldn't help myself!"

The first voice, lower. "Francis, you are an engaged man and Angelique is your _servant_! You've got to control yourself! Whatever will Elizaveta think?"

Elizaveta's heart skipped a beat and she was about to listen further when a door in the hallway opened and the family butler, Jean, looked at her in alarm. His face calmed down, though, when he recognized her. "Lady Elizaveta! Did Angelique not announce you?" Jean tsked. "Silly girl."

He went over to the door and knocked primly. Immediately the voices stopped and Jean called out, "Lady Elizaveta Héderváry."

There was a scuffle inside and when Jean opened the door Francis and the first man – shorter than him by a few inches, with striking green eyes and bushy eyebrows – were standing up.

Francis smiled at the butler. "Thank you very much, Jean. Bring in some tea, please?"

Jean bowed neatly and faded into the background.

Francis looked her over. A lovely face: green eyes not unlike Arthur's, soft brown hair that tumbled down her back, that single flower in her hair, the finely upturned Héderváry nose, and a wide smile – beautiful, undeniably. Gilbert and that Zwingli boy were lucky indeed.

She gave him a curtsy. "Mr. Bonnefoy," she murmured, holding out her hand.

Francis took it and placed tantalizing lips on it: she didn't seem to react save for a flash in those green eyes. It didn't matter: he straightened himself up. "It is my pleasure," he said. "Call me Francis, if you wish."

She nodded curtly. "Francis, then." A pause. "You may call me Elizaveta."

"Of course." Francis smiled and dusted himself off. Formalities, formalities. It wasn't that they hadn't met before: oh, they had, _plenty_ of times (thirty-six, if he recalled correctly, and twenty-eight of them involved him running away from a frying pan). In any case, he gestured to the man beside him. "Dearest, this is Sir Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur bowed. Elizaveta smiled at him and held out her hand again. "Kirkland…Are you not the Royal Mage?"

He flushed. "So you have heard," he said. "I haven't been the Mage for too long…eight, nine months, maybe? So I'm surprised."

Francis cracked a grin. "Oh, now, Arthur, you're being modest," he said. "This little man here's a real prodigy, Elizaveta. He's only twenty-two, and the Royal Mage already!"

Elizaveta ignored him. Imagine, meeting the Royal Mage _himself_ in person! "It is a pleasure to meet you, sir," she said.

"The pleasure is mine," Arthur interjected hurriedly.

Jean brought in tea and quickly excused himself.

Francis frowned. "Would the two of you like a stroll through the gardens after tea?" he asked. "I have just had some lovely geraniums imported from the neighboring kingdom."

Arthur shrugged and said it was up to the lady to decide. "Good tea you have here," he noted, taking a sip.

Elizaveta's eyes gleamed and she took a biscuit. "I-I happen to adore geraniums," she said, fingering the one in her hair. She didn't add exactly _why_ she adored them: she did not mention the moonlit nights where she'd meet Roderich at the pagoda, the times he'd play his violin to make the geraniums open and how he'd compliment its simple beauty and tuck one into her hair.

"Fantastic," Francis said. He called for the butler to put the tea set away and motioned for Elizaveta to take his arm. "Come along, Arthur."

One huge, beautiful garden and several hundred flowering plants later, Elizaveta told her fiancé she must be home for she had to change clothes for the engagement party later on.

"Of course," Francis murmured. He held out one of his trademark roses to her: with its lovely smell and silky red petals, she could not deny that it was a beautiful flower. "Promise me, Elizaveta, you will wear this with your gown." He smiled at her, his eyes like the sky.

She eyed him, and took it without a word.

* * *

The engagement party was going well. They'd found enough ingredients for bouillabaisse for three hundred people after all, and it was delicious as per the Head Chef. Francis had hired him for a reason, after all. The orchestra he'd hired was playing soft music across the room, which blended nicely with the lively chatter that filled his ears.

He saw his fiancée, this time in a gown simpler yet more beautiful than the one she was wearing earlier, with Gilbert and Vash in tow. As per his request, the blooming red rose was tucked behind her ear, but if he'd looked hard enough he could see that a geranium was tucked into her lapel.

She'd seen him too, apparently, and was telling the two of them how she'd just be over with him (presumably, that was). She floated over to him, her gown barely touching the floor, as Gilbert and Vash disappeared into the crowd. "Good evening, Francis," she told him, and after visibly hesitating, gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "It's a wonderful party."

"Of course," he replied right away, "You deserve no better."

She blushed, although her face remained neutral. "Thank you."

A slow, romantic song floated over the party, and he eyed her. "In romance novels, this is usually the point where the handsome, dashing male lead asks his beautiful partner to dance."

The ends of her lips curled upwards into what can barely be called a smile. "And you fancy yourself so handsome and dashing?"

"Of course." He bowed, a long, sweeping gesture, and held his hand out to her. "And do you, my beautiful partner, fancy yourself a good dancer?"

Elizaveta looked at him with that blank stare again, as if her thoughts were far away with another memory, but he made nothing out of it as she took his hand.

* * *

"They're dancing," Vash said absentmindedly, but his companion had left his side and was busy chatting up a group of young ladies. "Gilbert!" he barked, sauntering over to them.

Gilbert turned, and the ladies eyed him. "Vash!"

"He is your friend?" one of them asked.

Gilbert laughed. "Oh, him and me go _way_ back." He trapped Vash in a half-headlock, half-hug. "Ladies, this is Vash Zwingli. The old doofus may seem like a mean old bulldog at first, but really is a fluffy little puppy on the inside."

The girls swooned and Vash gave his friend another signature glare.

* * *

He saw her before she noticed him, her in her regal elegance and extraordinary beauty, in the center of the dance floor dancing a slow, floaty waltz. She'd always been a great dancer, and she seemed at the top of her game tonight, dancing with that nobleman. Francis' eyes twinkled, and she appeared to be laughing. But of course as a member of the orchestra, he couldn't do anything about it and played on.

Francis turned her around and that was when she caught sight of him: he knew she did because of the way her eyes widened, the way her lips pursed. Francis apparently followed her gaze and asked what she was looking at.

"Nothing," she said, and although his lip-reading skills were less than astounding it was fairly obvious that was what she was saying. "I just thought I recognized one of the orchestra members."

Francis nodded and the song ended with a flourish.

Later after she'd freed herself from Francis he met her on one of the balconies.

"Roderich!" she gasped.

"Elizaveta," he murmured. "Having a good time, I hope?"

Her lower lip trembled. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "A friend of mine is a member of the orchestra," he explained. "When one of the first violinists came down with a fever and couldn't make it, he suggested that they call me. And here I am, love."

She bit her lip and hugged him. "I missed you."

"How's the party going?"

"Dull," she replied. "Francis is a bore. I have, however, already met his friend the Royal Mage."

"Mr. Kirkland?" Roderich's tone was surprised. "I didn't know he and Francis were acquainted."

"I didn't, either. But it turns out they are, apparently." She laughed loudly, and then remembered to be quiet.

He leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss on the brow. "Oh, Elizaveta."

She hugged him again, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Elizaveta?" Vash's voice floated towards them – apparently he'd heard her laugh. "Elizaveta, Gilbert said–" A second later he walked onto the balcony. "–Oh." His eyes went from Elizaveta's own to Roderich's and then they widened. "_Y-you_!"

Roderich's indigo eyes flashed and his eyebrows crashed down, then flew upwards. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but evidently decided to keep it shut.

"Excuse me," he told Elizaveta, his tone having an uncomfortably cold edge, "I've forgotten I had a previous engagement. I will tell the orchestra members about this." He gave Vash a cool nod and said to the both of them, "I hope you both have a good time. Good night."

With that, he walked out, leaving Elizaveta and Vash alone on the balcony.

"Vash?" Elizaveta piped up after a short pause.

He grunted in response.

"Vash?" she repeated. "What was that about?"

He turned to face her; green eyes alight with everything from fear to anger to helplessness. "Better yet, dear _Elizaveta_, what was _that_ about? What were you _doing_?" he near-exploded.

She uncharacteristically managed to keep her cool. "How do you know Roderich?"

"Answer my question first." Vash took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She stared at him and thought of Roderich's talent for magic and remembered the anti-mage policy the Zwingli family had upheld for the past century. "That's none of your business," she said.

"Tell me."

"Why is it such a big deal to you?" she shot back. "You know perfectly _well_ that I don't love Francis!"

"Elizaveta, I–" In that moment, something seemed to break. "I know that. Just, please – anyone but Roderich Edelstein."

"_Why_?" Elizaveta near-shrieked. "Vash, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this earlier, but I _love_ him, okay? If that is too much for you to take I don't know why I'm even bothering with you!" She frowned, turned on her heel and left, and bumped into Francis on the way out.

"Elizaveta!" Francis exclaimed. "I was just looking for you!" He turned his gaze to Vash, who was still seething. "Oh, Mr. Zwingli. You don't mind if I borrowed Miss Elizaveta for a moment, would you?"

"Not. At. All," he grumbled. "By all means, go ahead."

Francis gave him a brilliant smile. "Thank you," he replied. To Elizaveta, he said, "Come along, dear, there's somebody I want you to meet." He saluted Vash and led her out of the balcony.

Vash considered throwing himself off the side of the balcony in the next minute, but decided against it and vanished once again into the crowd.

* * *

Arthur was saying something as he shook her hand amiably. "A pleasure to see you again, Miss Elizaveta," he said. "As the Royal Mage, I'd like you to meet the Queen of Fantasia."

Elizaveta had barely notice anything until then, but as Francis looked at her imploringly she stopped seeing red and curtsied. "Your Highness," she said slowly.

"Your Highness, this is Lady Elizaveta Héderváry, daughter of Éliás Héderváry," Arthur told the Queen.

"So this is your fiancée," the Queen told Francis. "Éliás'daughter. She's certainly very beautiful."

Elizaveta blushed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The Queen smiled. "I'm so sorry that I'm terribly late, there was an emergency at the Palace, you see–"

"It is no problem," Francis assured her smoothly. "Although I'm sorry to say almost everybody is in their cups by now."

He was right. Elizaveta, however, hadn't drunken a drop all evening.

"The Prince can't come?" Francis was asking, tapping Elizaveta on the hand to bring her back to reality.

"No, Toris has an affair," the Queen said absentmindedly. "In any case, I'm very sorry I can't stay long. I have a meeting in the South, you see."

"That is indeed a shame," Arthur said. "Perhaps you'd like to stay for a sampling of the food, perhaps?"

"That would be lovely," the Queen replied. "However, I have a meeting in forty minutes, and I cannot possibly miss it."

"Elizaveta and I understand," Francis said. "Thank you very much for stopping by."

"You are very welcome," the Queen replied. She turned to Elizaveta. "Send my best regards to your father."

Elizaveta stood there and gave the queen a barely-there curtsy. "Of course. Thank you very much, your Majesty."

"Congratulations to the both of you," the Queen called out as she made her way back to her carriage.

* * *

Elizaveta couldn't remember much of the night until she was safely at home with only the firelight to accompany her, for her father was away again and the servants were all asleep. She examined the new engagement ring on her finger: beautifully crafted rubies in the shape of a rose; offset by two glistening diamonds, and she examined the bracelet on her arm: simple but lovingly made, with a charm in the shape of a geranium.

A sudden rustle made her jump: the window was opening. She grabbed the nearest blunt object she could find – in this case, her frying pan –and made her way over to it.

There was a figure crouching on the windowsill.

Elizaveta gave a little shriek and slammed the frying pan down as hard as she could.

"AGH!"

She shined a light on it. "_Gilbert_!"

Her silver-haired friend grinned back. "Really, Liz, not so loud. And you should be thankful you've been hitting me with that since we were in diapers 'cause I now have a really hard skull."

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Well–" Gilbert stood up and dusted himself off – "I didn't get much chance to talk to you or Francis during the party, so I tried talking to our favorite neutral dude."

"And this couldn't wait until tomorrow – _why_, again?"

"Because I couldn't sleep wondering why he was too pissed to say anything and he occasionally mumbled your name and Rod's during the second half of the party so I wondered what the hell was up with that. So I went to see you."

Elizaveta faltered. "And?"

"And I asked him."

She felt faint and slumped on the nearest sofa. "Oh, God."

"He told me he found out about you guys." Gilbert's red eyes seemed sympathetic.

"He did. Roderich was part of the orchestra. He was _there_, Gilbert."

"Right. And he told me how _mad_ he was that of all people you had to pick Roderich Edelstein."

"He did tell me that, too." She looked at her friend. "Why?"

"He wouldn't tell me _that_," Gilbert said. "I thought you'd know."

Elizaveta felt like hitting him with the frying pan again.

"But–" Gilbert held up his hands, as if he knew what she was thinking. "Listen, Liz. I think Vash has his reasons, but I do think that one of them's this: He's really protective of the things he cares about, okay, because slowly they've been disappearing. It's just been Liesel and the two of us whom he knows he can trust. And he's sure I can take care of myself–"

"I can take care of myself, too," Elizaveta interrupted.

"Sure you can." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Anyway, since he's sure I can take care of myself, he really worries about you and Liesel. And ever since Liesel went missing–"

Elizaveta was silent.

"I think he's scared your thing with Rod will get you in trouble, Liz."

"But why Roderich especially?"

"That, my friend, I do not know. In any case, I'm going back home, Ludwig will miss me." Gilbert grinned. "See ya, pal." He pat Elizaveta on the head and leaped out the window.

She shut the window, stared at his retreating figure, then slowly made her way back to her room.

* * *

"There is a problem."

He saw her, of course, silhouetted against the moonlight. He barely heard what she was saying. "Could you repeat that?"

"There is a problem," she repeated, coming closer to him. "The dragons…Something's wrong with them."

This jolted him out of his half-asleep state. What was she doing here? Great Mages were supposed to stay in their own province. This meant something really was wrong.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

And she told him about what was wrong with her dragon.

"This is bad," he said. "The same is happening to mine. We must contact the others, then alert the City at once."

* * *

**Yaah, this chapter is 3,700+ words long and ten pages on my Microsoft Word. That's a record for me, honestly. I'm better at oneshots. **

**Woohoo, we now have England and Seychelles (Angelique)! And Lithuania is the Prince! (Don't ask why that happened, it's just…weird, okay?) Jean is Francis' butler and isn't any Hetalia character. And I'll see how many chapters I can get away with keeping the Queen nameless.**

**Anyway, so Vash has a hidden agenda regarding Roderich and we know the gender of two of the Great Mages: one is male and one is female. Despite the overload of male characters in Hetalia, I wanted **_**that**_** to not be all-male, at least. So there's (at least) one girl out of the four Great Mages. In the next chapter, we leave our rich little friends behind to visit the military barracks! **

**I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia. Don't forget to review, darlings.**


	5. Lovino

"_Shit_, I have the worst hangover _ever_."

Matthew reached over the table and patted his brother on the head. "Oh, Alfred. I _told_ you not to drink too much last night."

His brother frowned and looked up at him. "Mattie! That Bonnefoy man has good wine, I tell you! I can't believe you barely drank anything last night!" He paused. "Can't you heal it with your magic or something?"

"No." Matthew placed a plate of pancakes in front of him. "Eat up or you'll be late, bro. You know how Ludwig doesn't like latecomers."

"Urgh." Alfred buried his head in the table at the thought of his religiously punctual commanding officer. "Come on, Mattie."

Matthew sighed. "No, Alfred. Let this be a lesson to you – never drink too much at a party, or else–"

"Mattie, _please_?"

Alfred's sky blue eyes met his brother's sunset purple ones, and Matthew groaned. "All right." He put his fingers to his brother's temples and closed his eyes. A white mist immediately rose out of his hands and seeped into his brother's head.

"That is _awesome_, bro!" Alfred started digging into the pancakes. "Thanks!" A pause. "Shouldn't you be eating up, too? Aren't you in the military with me?"

Matthew smiled. "Unlike _Ludwig_, Lien isn't nearly as pushy about coming late," he said. "Must be because she grew up in the East. And besides, I ate an hour ago."

Alfred stopped chewing and eyed his brother. "You know, she is _hot_."

Matthew nearly spit out the water in his mouth. "E-excuse me?"

"Lien," Alfred said seriously. "Your commanding officer. The head of the military's healers. The lady who does that awesome wind magic thing. The Battle Medic. I said she was hot."

Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"Anyway," Alfred continued, "I didn't see her at the party last night."

His brother laughed. "Oh, Alfred, you didn't know? Lien was Francis' old flame."

Alfred stopped chewing again. "_Seriously_? How the hell did _that_ happen?" He paused. "And you know this…_how_?"

Matthew shrugged. "And unlike _your_ commanding officer, Lien tolerates gossip."

Alfred stood up and began putting away the dishes. "Man, I _knew_ I should've just become a mage. It seems so much more fun. Also I'd get Lien as my commanding officer–"

Smack.

"Okay! Geez, Mattie, you didn't have to hit me!"

* * *

"Good morning, Matthew." Lien's smile was warm. "We're meeting at the mess hall today. I'll see you there?"

Matthew smiled at her. "Morning, Lien. Yeah, I'll be there."

Alfred nudged his brother. "Hey, Matt," he whispered. "Introduce me."

His brother glared at him. "Introduce yourself, you –"

"Matthew, come on! Do it for me?"

"Alfred–"

Alfred looked around and saw Lien's dark ponytail disappear around a corner. "Great job, Matt. She's gone."

Matthew laughed and followed her. "See ya later, bro."

* * *

As usual, the knights' area, a sprawling field of greens and armor, was lively and noisy due to the crowd at the gates.

"So, like I was saying. Ludwig was three and wet his bed because he was dreaming about big scary–"

"Gilbert, for the last time, that did _not_ happen."

"Oh, shut your trap, you potato bastard, you _know_ it did!"

"Lovino, how do you know? Were you even there?"

"Well, Lovino _does_ have stalker-ish tendencies…"

"_Matthias_!"

Alfred grinned at the sight of his friends. "Lud! Gil! Lovi! Matt!"

The four young men turned to him. Gilbert was the first to react. "Alf!" he said. "Great to see ya! I was just telling this story to the guys about Ludwig…"

"_Gilbert_." Gilbert's brother's voice was dangerously low. "Tell that story and I will _tell_ everyone about that one time Elizaveta managed to get her hands on…"

His brother yelped and dropped to the ground. "Ludwig, _no_! My dignity…"

Lovino's face was thoughtful. "Elizaveta…wasn't she the pretty lady who got engaged last night?"

Gilbert started cracking up. His brother hit him on the head. "Well, yes," Ludwig said. "You see, our families have been close friends for a while."

"Mmm," Gilbert said. "Close friends or not, she's still Lizzie. Makes you wonder, really, what Francis sees in her."

The five of them were interrupted by a new voice, loud and cutting. "What Francis sees in _who_, exactly?"

"Vash!" Gilbert grinned at his old friend, who was sauntering towards them. "I was merely telling my _friends_ here about the party last night. It's the talk of the town, you know, and–" Before he could say anymore, the tip of Vash's sword was at his neck.

"Careful with your words," the shorter blond said. "By the way, what are you doing here, _General Beilschmidt_?" he snapped. "Didn't you hear? All generals are supposed to report to Mr. Oxensternia _immediately_." A second later, his sword was back in his sheath and he was stalking away.

Alfred blinked. "He have a thing for Elizaveta or something?"

Gilbert shrugged. "You'll never know." He grabbed his brother by the collar. "C'mon, bro. Ol' Waldo needs our attention."

* * *

Lovino hated to admit it, but maybe he did kinda miss the tomato bastard.

Feliciano was _great_: for a brother Lovino hadn't seen for the past thirteen years of his life, Feliciano had been marvelously accommodating, preparing a nice, cozy room and good food for Lovino, telling him that Grandfather, having attained Royal Knight status before Lovino was born, was somewhere in the South on some mission, showing him the beautiful paintings he sold for a living – Feliciano really was the talented one, people _flocked_ to his store to buy them – taking his brother on a tour of the capital. He'd even managed to ask the couple who celebrated their engagement last night to add an invitation for Lovino, and apparently both of them thought his brother was cute and played with him as children and readily agreed. In fact, in thanks, they'd received _two_ F. Vargas originals, signed and autographed by his brother the painting prodigy.

He'd even taken his brother straight to the military barracks on his first day, introduced him to a friend of the engaged woman and asked that person to handle his brother. (And Lovino ended up working under that person, in fact. He _knew_ there was something off about this Ludwig man and the way he behaved around his little brother).

Lovino remembered, though, the reason he was away in the first place. They'd been on vacation on the West when Lovino was around seven or eight, and Lovino had just gotten…lost. He didn't know how, but he did. And he'd ended up in the care of Antonio, Bella, and Lars, runaways who'd just settled in the West, the youngest of who was barely older than he was. Of course being noble-born, as his grandfather was a Royal Knight, his grandfather had him tracked down and brought back to the capital, but after seeing the utter _change_ in his grandson's manners (he blamed the old man, it wasn't _Lovino_'s fault he grew up without a female influence) he'd decided that Lovino would be better off living the simple life in the West than the plush life of City citizens. Sure, he'd resented his little brother for being chosen to stay. But he had to admit he would've grown up much differently had he stayed.

And they were plenty self-sufficient for people their age! Antonio had been stupid at times, but incredibly tactical for someone of his age and social class – imagine, a runaway peasant of thirteen! Sure, he refused to talk about where he was from.

"_That's a secret, Lovi," Antonio had told him quietly. "You'd think of me differently if you knew."_

Lovino hadn't been too curious about it then. But he'd inferred that his past was the reason for Antonio's incredible cheerfulness. Lars, on the other hand, was anything but cheerful – but he'd provided a nice balance to the four of them. In a way, they were like brothers that Lovino didn't have at the moment. Sure, he had a brother, but he was nice and comfortable growing up in the lap of luxury in the capital far, far away from the secluded village they lived in.

And then there was Bella–

"Whoa, Lovi!"

His opponent's cry jolted back to reality and realized that he'd made a weak thrust. Alfred easily parried it and sent his sword flying to the ground. He groaned and picked it up.

Alfred laughed. "You okay there, Lovino? You were kind of spacing out."

"He fought _fine_," Matthias declared, looking up from the block where he was sharpening his halberd. "Right, Chief?" He looked towards Ludwig.

Ludwig ignored him. "Your offense was all right, but you severely need to maintain a good defense," he said. "It looked like your heart just wasn't in it." He turned to Alfred. "You're improving," he told him. "Your footwork is still rather sloppy. Work on that."

Lovino glared at him.

"Easy, tiger," Matthias said, coming over to them. "How about you take me on, Lovi?"

Ludwig sighed. "Gylensted, you've been raring to fight since this morning," he rebuked. "Did something happen?"

Matthias raised an eyebrow at being called by his last name. "Nothing much," he admitted. "Just got a letter from Nikolas today. That's all." He threw back his head and laughed.

"Ah, yes," Ludwig said in a low voice. "Nikolas Paulsen? Isn't he the–"

"Friend of mine in the North," Matthias interrupted. "If you could call it that." He turned to Lovino.

"You're on, Matthias," Lovino growled. "Just be prepared to lose."

"Did I give you permission?" Ludwig snapped. He glanced at his watch. "It's nearly lunchtime, anyway. You can all go off early."

Lovino glared harder.

* * *

"So, Al, how was _your_ training?"

Alfred flashed a brilliant smile at his brother. "Great! Lud said I'm improving. And you?"

"I need to work on my healing," Matthew said.

"But Matt, you're a _great_ healer! Every time I have a cold, or a fever, or sprained my ankle, or – or wake up with a hangover, you're always there!"

"Sure," Matthew said, a half-smile on his face. "But I'm not fast enough. I've got to learn how to send out those healing spells fast enough. Or at least according to Lien."

Alfred smiled. "And speak of the devil." He glanced at the entrance to the cafeteria and frowned. "Mattie, who's that with Lien?"

Matthew followed his brother's gaze to see his commanding officer chatting happily with a tall, bespectacled Easterner. "Ah, that's Sunan," he said. "He's some important guy in the army." He frowned. "Thing is, I don't really know _what_ he does, only that he and Lien are really, _really _close."

Alfred's frown didn't let up.

"That didn't help, did it?" said Matthew.

"No."

"Lien smiles a lot, but I've never really seen her _that_ happy," said Matthias, coming towards with a tray in his hands. "Can I sit here, by the way?"

The brothers nodded and Matthias took a seat beside Alfred.

"I'm pretty sure they're family, though," Matthias continued. "Siblings, cousins, something like that."

Alfred's frown broke into a grin. Matthew could almost see the fireworks going off in his head and sighed.

"By the way, Matthias," he said. "Berwald and Tino kick you out of their table?"

"Nah," said Matthias. "They're off somewhere with some military head meeting that's supposed to start in three minutes."

Alfred looked around to see Sunan and Lien exiting the cafeteria. "So is training," he said. "We should get going."

Matthew nodded and began putting his tray away.

Matthias glared. "Seriously? I've barely even touched the pork chop!"

* * *

Walking out of the military's training facility later that day, Lovino heard his brother calling out to him.

"Lovi!"

He turned in time to see his little brother running towards him. "Feliciano?"

"Come quickly," said Feliciano, giving him a wide smile. "We're going out for dinner."

"So," said Francis, "As I was saying, dear Feli, it's absolutely _lovely_ of you to take your brother out to eat in my restaurant."

"It's my pleasure," said Lovino's brother, his usual sweet smile on his face. "After all, you did let him go to your engagement party last night. I'm sorry for pushing that, by the way. It was a lovely party," he added.

"Oh, I'm sure," said Elizaveta, although Lovino could detect a hint of displeasure in her voice. Couple with her less than happy face, she probably wanted to be somewhere else at the moment.

The four of them were seated at a table at Francis's five-star restaurant, eating some jaw-droppingly delicious food Francis had cooked up personally. Lovino was afraid it might turn awkward, but the couple had known Feliciano for years anyway. "This is good food, though," Elizaveta added rather hesitantly.

"Well," said Feliciano, "the chicken could use a bit more pepper."

Francis's face fell. "Really?" With obvious displeasure he picked up the pepper and sprinkled some on his chicken. He then proceeded to take a bite. "My goodness, Feliciano, it _is_ better!" he said. "I don't know why I don't just hire you as head chef, my friend."

"You know why," said Feliciano. "I'm perfectly happy doing what I'm doing."

"Painting?" said Francis, raising a - perfect, well-trimmed blond - eyebrow. "Not that it's a bad thing, of course, dear Feli, and your paintings are _gorgeous_ but I'd imagine someone like you–" at this point Lovino knew he was referring to their grandfather – "Joining the military or something like that."

"Perhaps I don't want to fight," Feliciano said, his face not losing that smile. "You know I hate fighting."

"He's a pacifist, dear, don't push it," said Elizaveta, although if Lovino didn't know any better he'd say she wanted to join the military judging by her tone of voice.

"Speaking of," said Feliciano, "How _is_ the military, Lovino?"

"It – it's all right."

"I mean, really," his brother went on, "Wouldn't Grandpa be _so _proud of you? I mean, you're following in his footsteps and all." His lips curled into a smile.

Lovino's eyes widened and he stared at his brother. Feliciano was smiling at him. "_Fuck. You_," he said under his breath.

Feliciano's expression didn't change. "Lovino, dear, there's a lady present," he said, his face unwavering. "I do wish you wouldn't–"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" Lovino roared. He stood up suddenly and slammed both his hands on the table. "Look, I don't know _what_ your problem is, but could you just _not- _not bring it –" His face contorted to a pained one. "Excuse me." He stormed out of the restaurant.

Francis felt the eyes of the restaurant customers on him and stood up to explain things.

Elizaveta bit her lip.

Feliciano felt his lips twisting into a grin.

He laughed.

* * *

**BEHOLD**

**MY FAIL ATTEMPT AT FORESHADOWING**

**Yeah.**

**Italy, I love you and your too-easy-to-warp personality.**

**Anyway, I'm so sorry for the late update. School caught up with me, and...yeah. Lien is Vietnam; Sunan is Thailand; Matthias is Denmark.  
**

**Review anyway?  
**


	6. Natalia

**to the stars**

**Chapter 6: **Natalia

* * *

_Dearest Natalia,_

_Ivan sent me a letter the other day. He says you're adjusting quite well to your work in the palace, that you've made new friends. I'm glad to hear that, sister. I'm sorry that the two of you had to go all the way over there just for me when you had quite the life here in the North, and I know you're worried, but I assure you that I'm fine._

_I know it must be strange for you to receive a letter from me not in my handwriting. You see, Eduard's been writing this for me – I'm sorry to say I'm getting better but I still can't write by myself without it turning out an illegible mess. He's been taking such good care of me: taking me to healers regularly and making me soup – that I feel that I'll be better before summer gets here. _

_I've decided to practice magic, by the way, to keep myself amused while the two of you are gone – Eduard is teaching me and I know a few water spells now! The North's traditional water magic is fun, but the South's fire magic seems so exotic! Perhaps, when I get well, we can relieve you of your palace duties and the three of us – just you, me, and Brother – can go on a trip across the country. How about that? Mother and Father would have wanted it, I assure you. They wanted you to see the world that they could not._

_But for now please take care. Do your duties well, sister, and try not to give your brother too hard of a time._

_Love –_

"Is that a letter?"

Natalia stopped reading. "What is it you want, Anna?"

Her fellow chambermaid laughed. "Nothing, dear Natalia. I'm just checking up on my co-worker – you aren't slacking off on the job, are you? You know the Queen would be _quite_ unhappy with that."

"If she will be, it's none of your business."

Anna frowned. "May I see that?"

Natalia fingered the knife at her belt. "No."

"Oh, well." Anna sauntered over and snatched it from Natalia's hands. "Oh, how cute. A letter from your _sister_?"

The long-haired girl didn't answer and instead snatched it back. "If you'll excuse me, Anna, I have work to do. And I'm sure you do as well," she added curtly. She then proceeded to brush past her and picked up the feather duster.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna smirk. "Aw, that's all right. Say hi to your sister for me!" She moved closer to Natalia, whispering the insult like a gentle breeze.

Natalia couldn't quite remember what happened after that.

* * *

"Tell me again what happened," Ivan said, his Northern accent thick.

"I've _told_ you," Natalia said, "I _don't_ know."

"You mean you don't know how Anna managed to end up crashing into a suit of armor, _breaking_ it and her _neck_? You almost impaled her!" Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Sister, we might have to end up _paying_ for that, and I don't know how we'll manage…"

Natalia frowned. "She insulted Katyusha, okay? What was I supposed to do?" She put her face in her hands. "I want to go home, Brother. Back to the North."

Her brother bit his lip, then tentatively put his hand on his sister's head. "Natasha," he said softly, calling her by her nickname, "You know we can't. You know Yekaterina needs our help."

To his surprise, she didn't jump up and cling to him like she usually did. "I know." She paused. "It's just so…" she trailed off, frowning.

Ivan said nothing.

"Y-you don't think I'll be fired, do you? I mean…"

"I don't think so," said Ivan.

* * *

" – You won't be fired," said Toris, an earnest smile on his face. "I – I convinced my mother to keep you on. A-and you don't have to pay for the suit of armor, either. It was getting rusty anyway."

Natalia dipped her head, not saying anything.

"Um, Natalia?" Toris was saying. "Are you okay?"

"Oh." Her head shot up, and she gave him what she hoped _wasn't_ a cold smile. "It's nothing. Thank you."

His face lit up. "Why, you're very welcome." He shifted his weight onto his other foot. "Err, perhaps you'd like to get to work?" he asked, a sheepish smile on a sheepish face.

"Of course." Natalia half-smiled and tried to resist the urge to not crush his fingers. "Thank you again, Your Highness."

He melted like a lump of butter. "Toris," he said softly. "Just…call me Toris." He gave her another smile and said he needed to talk to his mother.

"That's all right," said Natalia, giving him the sweetest smile she could muster. "Thank you again. Please give my regards to your mother, Your High – Toris," she hurriedly corrected herself.

"It – it's no problem," said Toris softly, watching her walk away, the echoes of her boots resounding in the hallway, her platinum hair spread out behind her like a fan.

* * *

Once she walked away her grip on her broom tightened. That _pansy_! Couldn't he see what a sniveling, pathetic wimp he was showing himself to be? Had he even gone though _half_ of what she'd ever gone through? She didn't think so – sniveling brat grew up with both parents by his side, financially secure in a huge palace ith

"You have no idea," she said out loud, and hoping nobody heard her.

She kept on walking back to the servants' quarters, where she spent her weeknights. Her room, which was hers alone, was large, spacious, and trimmed with white lace everywhere. She ran her hand along the white lace of her lamp, thinking of her sister.

She'd been to the Capital only once before this. Her parents had worked the farm for long, long years just to be able to pay for their trip. She almost laughed shortly – as a child she'd always complained about how they were always away, how they never had time for her. And she'd been delighted when they told her they were going to the Capital for the summer, just the five of them, as a family.

Ivan, no matter how he tried to hide it, disliked the Capital and its large, spacious houses, its high-class, rich people walking around in grand clothes, its too-big fountains and parks and statues, obviously wanting the simplicity of their Northern town with its good, simple people and farms everywhere.

His sisters had been delighted.

They'd adored the Capital, with its glitzy lights and laughing children and lovely shops, and they'd happily run around the boulevards buying whatever they wanted, while their parents had watched in the background, tired smiles on their weary faces, I mean, would they able to afford all the girls wanted?

"_Natalia," Katyusha was saying, a nervous smile on her face, "Don't you think we've done enough shopping for today?"_

"_But sister, I swear I saw this really, really nice dress in a shop window over there!" She turned to Ivan and her parents. "Can we go? Please?" _

_Her parents exchanged nervous smiles and her older brother was silent. "Of course," her mother said tentatively. _

_Natalia giggled. "Then let's go! I remember it was that way!" She grabbed Katyusha's hand and dashed towards a dark alleyway, her parents and brother silently following. _

_It had been so sudden. _

_They hadn't even noticed the two arrows flying through the air, hitting their two marks squarely in the chest. _

"_Spare the children!" someone had shouted, and Natalia, out of the corner of her eye, saw two figures leaping through the rooftops. _

_She turned around and screamed._

_Ivan was standing over her parents' corpses, the last glimpse of sanity flashing in his eyes._

* * *

They'd held her parents' funerals back at home in the north, their happy trip to the Capital dreadfully cut short.

* * *

Walking in the marketplace with Feliks later, Toris couldn't help but think of the newest chambermaid at the palace. She was quite beautiful, one could give her that. But she never talked, and she seemed to regard everyone with a kind of bitter air, that Toris couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. That was why he convinced his mother not to fire her after the incident with Anna, against his and Feliks' better judgment. He himself knew that Feliks wasn't too fond of her, saying that something was up.

Toris didn't think so.

The marketplace was crowded as ever, although people _were_ polite to the two of them because, after all, the Prince doesn't get out much, does he? Toris played his part, walking with his back straight and giving out soft smiles, while Feliks jabbered away gaily about the weather, about the politics, about the city gossip. The shopkeepers know him well, he _is_ one of the royal family's couriers but _loves_ to help out with the shopping and is, after all, scarily competent even though he didn't seem like it.

"Thanks, Paul," Feliks said, taking a paper bag from the elderly shopkeeper. "I'll tell the Queen you say hi." He waved to the old man, then turned to Toris. "Kay, I'm done. Anything else you want to get?"

"Oh." Toris thought a minute. "Nothing much. Why?"

"Nothing," said Feliks. "Since it's still early and all, you wanna check out the new section that opened?"

Toris shrugged. "Sure."

His friend grabbed his hand and pointed at everything in the new section, from carpets to pots and pans to lovely flowers, even buying a sprig from a lovely young lady tending a shabby stand, and Toris was stunned when his happy chatter stop. "Like, oh my god."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Seriously, look at that guy. He's the newest shopkeeper round here, and he gives me the _creeps_." He pointed to a vegetable seller whose sign also reported tailoring. Toris looked over and his eyes widened.

It was Ivan Braginsky.

"That's Natalia's brother," he heard himself say out loud.

"Oh, really? So, that must be it. Creepiness must, like, run in the family." He shrugged.

"Feliks," Toris scolded. "Don't be mean. He's only here because of his sick sister in the North."

His friend raised an eyebrow. "Then he should just stay there and take care of her." He sighed. "Let's just get out of here, okay?"

Toris sighed and followed him, but he couldn't help but feel Ivan's eyes on him as they left the marketplace.

* * *

"I hear Anna's in the hospital," Natalia, leaning against a wall, heard one girl say around one of the castle's hallways. "They have these professional healers watching over her or something."

"How did she get hurt, anyway?" said another one, this time with a softer, more reticent voice.

"Natalia pushed her into a suit of armor," said the first girl, her tone condescending.

"Why would she do that? Anna's such a nice girl."

"Who knows?" Natalia heard the first girl scoff. "You know that girl – she never talks. Who knows what's going on in that mind of hers? Lord knows she doesn't deserve her job here – she's here only because she has the prince wrapped around her finger. And the Queen feels sorry for her."

"Is that _so_?" said the second girl, her tone genuinely shocked, and their voices blended into the background, Natalia catching snippets of their conversation ever so often.

_I pity the Prince and his being head-over-heels for her._

_I hear she's working to support her sick sister in the North. _

_She has a brother, doesn't she? _

_Yes, he's quite handsome, but I hear he's not exactly stable…_

* * *

_Dearest Yekaterina,_

_It's nice to know you're getting better. Life is great here, although it's quite a shame that you can't be here with us. I've made plenty of new friends. I do think that you'd like it here, it hasn't changed much since we last came here. The people are nicer, as well. _

_The people in the castle are extremely nice. _

_I hope to see you soon._

_Love, Natalia._

* * *

She'd never been much of a liar.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. Again. And sorry that **_**With Friends Like These**_** and **_**Life in Slow Motion**_** are on hiatus. Again. Things just caught up with me, y'know? So, uh, DOUBLE UPDATE WOOHOO - **

**Just kidding. I feel like submitting 7 over the next three days, maybe? It's China-centric, and will show my Asian bias, as if it wasn't showing enough already.  
**

**So here we finally have Russia, Belarus, and Lithuania (and Ukraine, kind of)! Keep in mind that despite what this chapter may portray, Russia and Belarus are no less insane than they are in canon. Just a hell of a lot more stable. Anna, once again, is not any Hetalia character. **

**Anyway, so this'll be the basic groupings for the provinces, give or take a few people:**

**NORTH: Nordics + Former Soviet Union – Capital dwellers**

**SOUTH: Mediterranean dudes + a few other people**

**EAST: Asians – Vietnam and Thailand + Iceland for the moment **

**WEST: Everyone else who doesn't live in the capital**


	7. Yao

**to the stars**

**Chapter 7: Yao**

* * *

The Easterner hummed to himself as he poured water into the kettle. He then set about looking for a tea bag to put in it. Rummaging through the cupboards, he then realized that he'd just run out.

Grumbling to himself all of a sudden, he decided to go postpone making breakfast and go check the mail. Looking through the usual pile of envelopes that had turned up on his front porch and throwing the useless ones away – "Bills…junk…ads…bills…" – he found one that finally set a smile on his face.

A letter! A nice, long letter! From his little sister! He hurriedly opened it to find that it was dated three days prior.

"_Dear brother_," Lien had written in her neat, ladylike handwriting. "_I can't believe that it's been four years since I arrived at the Capital, it hardly seems like it. I'm sorry I haven't sent you a letter in so long…"_

She went on to write that the military's mages were doing well; they hadn't had a single major flare-up since the incident a year ago, and they were all incredibly talented. Although it was a fun job being the head of the mages it was very stressful – "_Really, brother, if only you'd come over here and join the military. I'm sure they'd promote you to my position really quickly. I'd be really happy if that happened –" –_though the military technically didn't do much except help out in natural disasters and wait for some major war to come around.

Sunan was doing marvelously as well – Yao had problems sending the two of them to the capital – _alone_ – but it seemed to have settled. "_Everyone actually thinks we're a couple_," she'd written, and even though he could picture her laughing graciously – she was always such a little lady – while writing it he knew it wasn't that far from the truth. Adopted or not, Sunan was still incredibly close to her. _"He's the new head of the close-range fighters_," she'd written about him. _"Assassins, they like to call it, even though not a lot of assassinations actually _happen_. It sounds cool, perhaps? But then again, it_ is _incredibly secret that not a lot of people know that the military even _has_ a branch of close-range fighters. So they think Sunan just hangs around the training areas being a freeloader and such. If they only knew…"_

Yao paused. When _was_ the last time he'd seen Lien? Or Sunan, for that matter?

"_So, anyway,"_ the letter went on, _"Yesterday we had a meeting with the rest of the military council – for the record, that's the heads of the military's different departments: that's me, Sunan, Mr. Oxensternia who's in charge of the knights, Mr. Vamainoen, who's the head for the _other_ long-range fighters (archers and such – the man has _terrifying_ aim, although he's also a fairly competent swordsman), and the Queen. There might be war brewing on the horizon, Brother. There are rumors of the neighboring kingdoms planning to attack. And on top of all of that…" _At this point her handwriting trailed off, and she'd begun a new paragraph. _"Did you hear of the dragons? Did our sibling tell you? Unrest, the Great Mages say, and they do not know why. We're having another council meeting, two weeks from now, to decide the next course of action. Only all four Great Mages will be here with us." _

"_I don't think I meant to startle you. But the thing is, brother, I'm scared. An attack from the neighboring kingdoms, we can handle by itself. Fantasia has great military strength. But to top that with a problem with the dragons? The Mages do not know what it is, and I do not know how it's going to take its toll on our country. Perhaps it will all die down; they will find a way to calm them. Maybe. I know I sound like a henpecked old lady," _it went on, "_But try not to let that worry you too much, all right?"_

The one-sided conversation turned to sweeter things, because he knew his sister hated being the bearer of bad news, and Lien began telling him of parties and balls and glitzy things _– "Did I ever tell you about that crackpot Francis Bonnefoy? If you haven't heard, he's engaged now. I don't know whether to feel sorry for or to laugh at his bride – Sunan went to their engagement party, I did not, for reasons you should know." _ She told him of a delightful bazaar that was in the Capital for only a week, and she and Sunan had gone there the other day – _"I bought gifts for each of you. A pendant for Xiang, new sheaths for Yong Soo, and a necklace for Mei. I sent Kiku's gift in another letter to him, because I know it will trouble you to look for him. Please find some way to get it to them. Yong Soo told me in a letter that he's going to visit your house sometime next week – you can ask him to deliver the gifts for you. Perhaps you don't exactly want to see any of them right now, but I hope they receive them anyhow." _

She'd ended the letter there, telling him that training was to start in a few minutes and wishing him good health. And she'd added a postscript in frenzied handwriting, telling him she'd bought tea for him at the bazaar and forgot to mention it – _"I know you always run out of tea this time of the month, so I bought some for you."_ Oh, Lien was such a dear! She knew him too well. His happy mood restored, he went to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast, carrying the letter and the enclosed bags of tea.

"Yao?"

He dropped the letter. "Erik?" Cursing the fact that he'd taken too long reading Lien's letter, he bustled over to the front door. Sure enough, the boy was standing there, his face that usual blank mask. "Ah, come in, aru! Have you had breakfast?" He gave him his goofy smile.

"Well, yes–"

"Tea, then, perhaps?" Lien had sent a lot. While it wasn't the same as Eastern tea, Western tea wasn't bad on its own, either.

Erik gave him a strange look, but he accepted. As Yao sat down to his steamed fish and tea, Erik said, "You seem unusually…chipper today." He paused for a second and took a sip of the tea. "N-not that it's a _bad_ thing, i-it's just…"

"Unusual?" Yao filled in, still smiling. "It is nothing, aru. I just received a letter from my sister."

Erik blinked.

"The one in the capital," Yao said, annoyed. "There are funny goings-on there right now, aru. Or at least that's what she tells me."

"Such as?" Erik probed, his eyes wary.

"Rumors of a war," said Yao with a nonchalant shrug. "Don't tell anyone, of course. And the dragons are stirring, aru, and nobody knows what to do with them." He shrugged. "So they're having a super-important council meeting next week. All four Great Mages will be there, aru. In the Capital."

Erik very nearly spit out his tea. "In two weeks?" Not good. Not good at all.

"Which reminds me, aru," said Yao, "Weren't you leaving in two weeks? For the Capital? Before you head on to the West?"

"Um, yes?"

"That means you might meet one of the Mages," said Yao with a faint smile. "Perhaps, even the one for the East, aru." He smiled at Erik and closed his eyes for a moment.

_Damn_, Erik muttered to himself. He'd forgotten to ask around about Yao's siblings.

Yao stood up. "Done with your tea, Erik?" he said. "We must get started with today's lesson. As you're leaving in two weeks, there's still a lot you have to learn, aru!"

Oh. That. "Uh," he piped up, "I-I think I'd like to stay for a little longer. For an extra two, three weeks, maybe."

"And pass up an opportunity to meet a Great Mage, aru? Or more? Or all _four?_" Yao looked at him incredulously, then shrugged. "If you say so," he continued. "I wanted to teach you for a little more, anyway." He gave Erik an endearing smile.

Stab of guilt. "Thank you."

Hours of wind magic and practicing later, they were once again sitting on Yao's front porch sipping tea. "So," Yao was saying. "You'll be canceling your train trip to the Capital?"

Erik nodded.

"Sad," Yao went on. "All those celebrities in the Capital at that time, too, aru."

_You've met one_, thought Erik. _Your own flesh and blood!_

"Where will you stay, then, when you finally do leave?" asked Yao. "The inns in the Capital are all ridiculously expensive."

"With Matthias Gylensted, a knight," Erik replied. "I don't suppose you've heard of him?"

Yao laughed. "I suppose I have, aru. Lien wrote that he tried to hit on her once."

"Typical," Erik muttered under his breath. Aloud he said, "Well, he's actually caring for my pet right now. And he – he's a friend of my brother." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Yao raised an eyebrow. "You have a brother, aru? You never told me."

Erik rubbed the back of his head. "I guess it never came up."

"So, what – was your brother an Easterner brought up in the North, like you?" Yao asked.

"Um, yes. No. Uh–" Erik trailed off. "It's complicated."

"Ah." Yao's fingers were moving and Erik could see that he was fingering his sister's letter. "That's how I feel sometimes, as well. Complicated." Yao stared at the horizon again, and closed his eyes.

As per usual whenever he was holding one of his siblings' belongings, memories flooded back to him. He remembered their parents screaming at each other, _fighting_, he remembered being confused and wanting them to stop because they were his _parents_, they weren't _supposed_ to fight, they were supposed to be together and happy and care for him and his younger siblings. He remembered his mother finally leaving, his siblings' confused faces. He remembered his father breaking down into tears, hugging his eldest son close – because after all Yao was the one who looked the most like their mother.

He remembered the day his father got the news that his mother was dead.

And he remembered the day Lien came to live with them, his mother's daughter but not his father's. He wondered how his mother had only left a year ago and yet here was his half-sister only three or four years younger than him. And then he remembered his parents' fighting and somehow it all made sense.

His father didn't like Lien. He never did. A bastard, he called her. Undeserving of the Wang name. He hated the fact that Lien, like Yao, looked like Wang Lan Yueh, unfaithful as she was. Because he'd loved her despite it.

But Lien was steadfast, and eventually his father shut up, won over by seeing Lan Yueh's lovely dark eyes on Lien's pale face.

He remembered the day his father came home to tell him his aunt, his father's only sibling, and uncle were dead and that their cousins Kiku and Yong Soo were coming to live with them.

He remembered the day Yong Soo brought home a friend. And his father, warmed up to children by then, took the orphaned Sunan in, hoping that the children's tinkling laughter would remind him of his Lan Yueh's.

It did. And for a while, they were happy.

Yao was twelve when his father died of a disease.

The Wangs were wealthy. Everyone in those parts of the East knew that members of the family were filthy rich and very influential. But here was the eldest member, barely twelve, with no other living relatives save for his younger siblings and cousins. So the fortune was locked away till Yao became of age, but for those long six years before he'd turned eighteen he'd refused any outside help and set about caring for his siblings, blood or not, by himself. And they were happy. They were like a real family.

The day Yao turned eighteen he'd claimed the fortune. That was the day Kiku, Yao's secret favorite, announced he was leaving.

And that was only the tip of the iceberg.

Erik paused. Yao was spacing out again. "Yao?" he asked, a little timidly.

"Ah–" Yao's vision cleared, and he turned to smile at his protégé. "I – I was reminiscing again, aru. About my family."

"Oh."

"What is your brother like?" said Yao, turning thoughtful honey-gold eyes on him.

"Oh," Erik repeated dumbly. "Well, he's very – very talented."

"He's a mage, like you?"

"Yes. And he's quite work-oriented."

"Ah, so what does he do, then? Does he work for the military, aru?"

"Uh–" Erik paused again. "Sort of, I guess. And – a scholar?" He cocked his head to the side. Eager to change the subject, he hurriedly said, "What about your siblings?"

"Hmm." A fond smile found its way onto Yao's face. "Would you like to meet them instead?"

Erik nearly fell off the porch. Would he? _Would _he? Fighting to keep his face straight, he said, "Uh, I suppose. If – if it wouldn't trouble you too much…"

"Hah!" Yao gave a laugh. "I'll show you." He placed two fingers on Erik's forehead. "This is a special technique, aru – it's actually more of an application of wind magic than anything. It allows you to view my memories." He smiled. "Now don't fidget, aru," he snapped suddenly. "Calmly…"

* * *

_The place he was standing in seemed familiar. He'd seen that shade of brown before. The paintings on the hallway looked newer, but recognizable. The floor was still smooth and cold. _

_He heard laughter somewhere, and, curious, he followed the sound up a large, regal staircase, vaguely thinking he'd never been up that staircase before, despite visiting the lower floor plenty of times. He entered a big room, filled with children. Standing in the doorway, he was able to see their faces clearly – while they all had the dark hair and eyes painfully common to people of the East, they were still beautiful. _

_There was a boy who looked around thirteen, with calm eyes and short-cropped black hair. Next to him were two others who appeared to be arguing, one with a face stoically calm and the other wearing a face of hyperactive energy. Two girls sat close to them, playing with the hair of a bespectacled pre-teen, who was bearing all the ribbons and glitter with an embarrassed smile. One of the girls, looking no older than eleven, had shoulder-length brown hair and a flower in her hair, while her companion – _

_Erik stopped for a moment, marveling at how the older girl resembled Yao. For a moment, he thought she _was _Yao, and he was about to announce his presence and greet him when a voice called, "I'm home, aru!" _

_He whirled around to see a younger Yao on the stairs, and nearly gave out a yelp of surprise. But then the younger Yao walked right through him. _

_Erik nearly fainted. _

"_Brother!" the older girl squealed, followed by several "Brother!"s from her (presumably) siblings. "Yao, you're back!" _

_Yao laughed, and for the first time Erik saw him as someone who made no move to conceal his emotions. The Yao he knew was careful even when he smiled. "Hello! I went to this lovely clothing store today, aru. I got you all treats!" _

_The children giggled. _

"_Xiang," Yao said, and the quiet-looking boy came forward. "I got you this, aru." He handed the boy a silk traditional Eastern robe with an imprint of the East's wind dragon. _

"_Brother," Xiang murmured, "I-it's beautiful. Thank you." _

"_Yong Soo," Yao called, "I got you new shoes. Mei told me how you ruined your old ones, aru." _

"_Well–" the energetic-seeming boy began, a slight smile on his face, but was cut off by laughter and his older brother hugging him and ruffling his head affectionately. _

"_New robes for Kiku as well, aru," said Yao, giving the calm-eyed boy a wrapped parcel. He accepted it with a quiet 'thank you.' _

"_As for Mei, I got you this," Yao said, pulling out a white pleated skirt. The younger of the two girls came forward and threw her arms around his neck in thanks. _

"_Lien and Sunan, I bought you new clothes from the Capital," Yao said. "These shirts are all the rage in the Capital, Sunan, but to wear them you'll have to get rid of that _ridiculous_ hairdo, aru," he told the glasses-wearing boy, not two years younger than him, who laughed and pointed helpfully at his sisters. "And Lien, these blouses are what women want in the Capital. And I got you a new pair of shoes to go with them." The girl who looked so much like him came up and accepted it – she was indeed the Battle Medic, only with a grin on her face. He patted them affectionately on the head as they threw their arms around him. _

_Erik watched as if in a dream, his throat clogging up as he thought of his brother. He saw himself in Yao's shoes, being surrounded by adoring siblings, and he felt strangely happy. He watched, mesmerized, as Yao called his beautiful siblings down for dinner, and he noticed that the calm-eyed boy (Kiku?) had lingered behind. _

"_Kiku, is anything wrong, aru?" Yao said, looking up from Yong Soo and Mei, who were chattering happily to each other down the stairs. _

"_It's nothing, brother," Kiku replied, his face carefully balanced. "I was merely…thinking." _

"_Of course," said Yao brightly. "One must always exercise the mind, aru. Now hurry along downstairs for dinner."_

* * *

_The scene changed all of a sudden – so _violently_ that Erik shuddered as he watched the earth browns of the room being morphed into brilliant gold. He looked around the room. _

_It was familiar, and yet he'd never been there before. He was sure of it. _

"_How _could_ you!" _

_The scream jolted him out of his thoughts, and for a while he panicked – was he visible to them? And then he realized – he must still be within Yao's memories. He whirled around. _

_The children were older, now, with serious expressions on their faces. And one of them was missing. _

"_You let Kiku _leave_!" a female voice cried, and Erik recognized its owner as the ponytailed girl – Lien, was it? "And now _look_!"_

_Erik turned his gaze in the direction where the voice was directed at, to see Yao as the victim of the girl's screams. "My _sister_, Yao–"_

_No. Two of them. The boy with the calm eyes, and the girl with the flower in her hair – _

"_She was more _my_ sister than she was _yours_!" Yao shot back, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and pain. "I cared for her as much as you did!" _

_Her brothers cowered. Lien no more than flinched and burst into tears. She shouted something he couldn't understand, and Yao shouted back, and suddenly there were people swarming around them and holding the two of them back -_

_Erik looked around. And he realized where he'd seen it before. He knew one of those people –_

* * *

"I'm sorry, aru."

Erik blinked and wondered if the scene had changed again. He realized he was back in Yao's not-so-modest home, sipping tea. He blinked again, and realized that Yao was crying.

* * *

**A/N: So. My Asian bias is showing. Very badly.**

**The whole shizzle with his siblings will be revealed in a bit, don't worry. And by a bit, I mean the next three/five/ten chapters.**

**And yes, I am a bitch. I publish this chapter then decide five minutes later to take it down. Sorry. :(**

**Next chapter will introduce, thankfully, only one new character. Mei is Taiwan, Xiang is Hong Kong, and Yong Soo is Korea.  
**


	8. Charlotte

"So let me get this straight," said Arthur. "Your sister is coming over."

"_No_, Arthur, for the last time–"

"_Adopted_ sister, whatever. She still looks a hell of a lot like you."

Francis frowned.

"I meant that as a _compliment_, frog," Arthur snapped. "But if you want–"

"No, I _won't_ deny it, she's grown into a lovely young lady, although she doesn't speak like one at _all,_" said Francis. "It's just that it's disheartening to realize she wasn't there at my engagement party."

"That fancy school in the South doesn't let students get out until today, and it's your own fault you sent her there," his friend reminded him. "She's studying magic there, isn't she?"

"I would think so," Francis replied. "Fire. It doesn't fit her." He winced. "I hope she doesn't decide to practice it _here_."

"It's called karma and it's biting you in the ass," said Arthur, gathering his things.

"Where are you going?"

"If you'll excuse me, I need to be off. I'm meeting the Great Mages in the Palace today."

Cobalt eyes widened. "Arthur, why?"

Arthur realized he'd slipped and mentally slapped himself over the side of the head. "Oh, well, just don't let anyone know," he said. "Some emergency that's happening in the provinces. Best be off," he added hurriedly. "Don't forget to fetch your sister–"

"_Adopted_ sister, Arthur, I don't see why–"

"_Goodbye_, Francis," Arthur said with a tone of finality, realizing that at the rate he was going he was going to be late as well. "I shall see myself out."

Meeting Charlotte at the train station later, Francis couldn't help but wonder what the emergency was. Nothing to do with the dragons, he hoped? As if Fantasia didn't have enough troubles already.

He sighed. At the very least, nobody should know except the parties concerned. And him, of course.

* * *

Charlotte's train arrived late, which was fine because he'd dozed off by the time it had arrived. The sound awoke him of course, and he got up just in time to see her hop off the platform.

"Charlotte," he called.

She turned toward him – she really was getting pretty, although there was a certain harshness to her manner. "Hello, Francis," she said. "I see you didn't forget to pick me up this time."

He sighed. She really was different from the adoring girl his parents had brought home when he was younger. "Sister, just because I forgot _last_ time–"

"–And the time before that, and the time before that," Charlotte interrupted. "And I'm not your sister."

"Well yes–"

"Anyway," she said, "Can we go home? I must tell you something."

Relieved, he offered his arm. "Of course, dear Charlotte."

Once they'd gotten in the car and she'd entrusted her bags to Jean, he faced her. "All right, what did you want to talk about?"

Her face got serious. "Francis," she said, her tone quivering with excitement, "Did you know the great mages are all here in the Capital right now?"

He nearly spit out his water. "H-how did you know that?"

She frowned. "How did _you_ know that?"

"Arthur," he groaned, waving his hand.

"Well," Charlotte said, "The Great Mage of the _South_ was next to me on the train."

"Is that so – _wait_ a minute," Francis said. "How did you know he was the Mage of the South?"

"It was obvious," Charlotte said with a certain haughtiness to her tone. "You could tell by the way people were staring at him. And he had a golden bracelet of a dragon on his arm."

He laughed. "Darling, by your logic, if I had people stare at me all day – as if they don't already – and have a bracelet on my arm, you'd mistake me for the Great Mage?"

She stomped on his foot. "I'm not yet _finished_," Charlotte continued, glaring at him. "Anyway, when this little kid went up to him and asked what he did for a living, he said, 'I'm a simple shopkeeper.'"

"Still doesn't prove anything–" Francis swerved his foot to avoid her heeled boot.

"_But_ when it was only me and him left in the compartment I asked him if he really was a simple shopkeeper or the Mage."

"Charlotte, that's hardly polite!" Francis was shocked. Asking if someone was a Great Mage was simply unheard of. "And it's him and _I; _or me and _he_."

She shrugged. "Who cares? He smiled and said, no, he was not, he was indeed the Great Mage. And we had a very nice conversation, and it turns out, oh, look! His fellow Great Mages happen to be in the Capital for the same conference _he's_ going to!" He was afraid she was going to swoon. "Imagine, Francis. _The_ Great Mage! Of Fire! Which is what I'm studying! Canyoubelieveitreally—"

Suddenly Francis grinned. "Did you remember to ask his name, dear?"

Charlotte dropped her book and frowned. She leaned against the window and didn't say anything else for the rest of the trip home.

Francis already knew the answer.

* * *

"So, Francis. I hear you're getting married."

Francis beamed at her and set her bags down in the hall. "So, you heard, little sister!" He called for Angelique to bring tea for himself and the young mistress.

"For the last time, I am _not_ your sister," Charlotte snapped, adjusting her glasses. "And excuse me? It's all over the _news_. Everywhere. Trust me, I've even checked with people in the East and West."

Her adopted brother laughed. "Fancy that. The public loves me already." He urged her to take a seat.

"And I hear you're marrying a certain Miss Elizaveta. Have we met?" Charlotte seated herself primly on the sofa.

"I do think you have, yes," said Francis. "You were probably nine or ten and I was around fifteen and she was hitting me with a frying pan."

"Didn't you two get off on the right foot," she commented dryly. "Have you ever even gotten a chance to _know_ her?"

"No," Francis admitted. "A good chunk of what I know about her is from Dad or Gilbert – you've met him, dear – and every single time I _try_ she snubs me." He sighed.

His adopted sister stared at him with her sapphires-for-eyes. "Francis, did it ever occur to you that perhaps she has someone else she loves?"

He blinked. In truth, the possibility had never occurred to him. "No," he admitted. "I figured Gilbert would probably tell me if she did."

"What if he's keeping it a secret?" Charlotte shrugged. "You never do know."

Francis stared at her suspiciously. "What are you up to?" he asked. "You're not planning to ruin my wedding, are you, sister?"

She didn't bother to correct him. "What I'm _trying_ to ask is _do you love her_?"

Francis thought of her beautiful face and her gorgeous mocha tresses and her eyes that looked like Arthur's and her dancing and the way she laughed and her strength and the way Gilbert tended to go on and on about her, and he said, "Uh, yes." But then he thought of Angelique's _lovely_ face, and her wide sunny smile and her pretty caramel eyes and the way she was so polite always, and then he thought of Lien, with hair like a river of ink and practical, magical hands, and a beautiful, intelligent, face, and he thought of Matthew, with his beautiful purple eyes and the way he was so sweet, and he thought of Arthur, horrible, brash, lethal chef Arthur, and he thought of Charlotte and –

Absentmindedly his eyes wandered to the picture on the mantelpiece. Charlotte followed his gaze, and her eyebrows went through the ceiling.

She was a smart girl – she knew what he felt. They both knew what was on that picture.

He got up anyway and went to get it. His fingers traced the flower in her hair, the cropped blond hair, the slender figure…

"I miss Joan," said Charlotte.

Francis shot her a look somewhere between dirty and pained.

* * *

Charlotte's boots echoed sharply in the large hallways of the Bonnefoy manor. Having been cared for there for the past decade or so, she knew it well. Slipping into the servants' quarters, she looked around for Jean or any of the other servants, made her way to a certain door, and rapped sharply on it.

"Coming!" came the girlish, familiar voice.

"Angelique, it's me," Charlotte said in a low voice. She suddenly heard the shuffling of feet and things falling to the floor with crashes and bangs. All too quickly the door opened, and her friend stood in the doorway, flushed and panting but with a big grin on her face.

"Hello, Lady Charlotte," she said, a teasing smile on her face.

"Angelique, we've been through this so many times already," Charlotte huffed. "Now, let's get down to business."

"Business?" squeaked Angelique.

Charlotte's mouth twisted into something that vaguely resembled something in the middle of a smile and a frown. "I hear how Francis has been treating you."

Angelique blushed. "It's nothing," she said softly. "I – I can handle it."

Her friend didn't look convinced, and Angelique looked at her with fear in her eyes. "I mean, Charlotte, it's the least I could do, putting up with it. He took me in when I was…"

The blonde's frown deepened. "Even so." She adjusted her glasses. "Nobody deserves to be…" She paused and let the sentence trail off into nothing. "Angelique, I want to ask you something."

Pleased to have to topic changed, Angelique gave her a sunny smile. "Yes?"

"Can you look me in the eye and say that you love Francis?"

"You are his sister. To express my true feelings would be–"

"I am only his sister in name only, Angelique." Charlotte adjusted her glasses again. "He knows as much as I that I look at him and his...mannerisms with nothing but disapproval and disdain. Why do you think I use my father's name? My real father's name?"

Angelique let the name roll off her tongue. _Beaumont_. A family that was once prestigious and wealthy but had slowly been using up its power and wealth, and had slowly started disappearing fifty years ago. Charlotte was one of – if not _the_ – last of the bloodline.

Charlotte sighed. "Yes, yes, I am a Beaumont, I am perfectly aware of that. Now–"

"I love him," Angelique interrupted in a cautious tone, "But only as a servant must love their master. Only as a sister must love her brother."

"You love him as a brother, then?"

"I do."

Charlotte gave a calculating smile. "Can you look me in the eye and tell me you love working here?"

Her friend stared at her.

Angelique sighed heavily.

What had happened to her parents?

Her earliest memory was of a dingy orphanage on the edges of the Capital, where a kindly lady had taken care of her, telling her tales of her darling son who was _just_ a few years older than her and w and had _fantastic_ talent with magic, and whom she was sure was upper middle class, if not outright noble, of birth, as the beautiful dark-haired lady carried herself with a kind of feminine grace, despite her dingy surroundings. Angelique had been one of many children there, and she remembered at the age of six that the lady had disappeared.

She'd been shuttled from foster home to foster home, hating each of them with an increasing intensity, until finally she'd run away.

She'd lived on the streets for a year when Francis and Arthur had found her.

"Without Francis and Arthur, I'd be dead," she said evenly.

"Not answering the question," Charlotte sang out. She stared at Angelique's honey brown eyes.

Angelique sighed heavily again. "No."

"And if I gave you an alternative option, would you quit?"

Her companion eyed her. "I trust you," she said quietly. "So, yes, Charlotte, I would."

Charlotte's lips turned into what could barely be called a smile, and her eyes flashed deviously behind her glasses. "Great. Then I can help you."

* * *

NIKOLAS PAULSEN STOP

FOUND YOUR BROTHER STOP

IN THE EAST STUDYING MAGIC UNDER MY BROTHER STOP

CANCELED TRIP TO THE CAPITAL FOR TODAY FULL STOP

Nikolas smiled and glanced out the train window, folding and unfolding the telegram once again.

_Erik, you didn't think you could hide forever, could you?_

He would find him soon enough. It wouldn't take long.

* * *

**A/N: Actually? This tops the list of chapters I dislike. However it really needed to be published because it sets the plot moving. Seriously.**

**And...I lied. I said I'd introduce one character (Monaco/Charlotte) but I ended up throwing Norway (Nikolas) in at the end. Sorry.  
**


	9. Bella

**To The Stars**

**Chapter 9 - Bella** (although it's not very Bella-centric but who's counting)

* * *

**-July 11-**

**-Afternoon-  
**

Bella stretched her arms, walking around the small town she'd grown to love over the years. Behind her, Lars was muttering about something, picking blueberries along the way.

"Really," she said, turning around to face him. "What's wrong with you?"

Her brother raised an eyebrow at her. "Rumors of outlaws," he muttered, his voice low.

She gave him a good-natured laugh. "Don't be silly," she said. "Outlaws in this neat little bit of the country? That's for the East, bro."

Lars didn't say anything, but he turned slightly when he heard a rustle in the bushes.

* * *

Carlos opened the door, yawning and lighting a cigarette. "Bella," he said, the surprise obvious in his face. "What are you doing out this late?"

She gave him an earnest smile. "It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it? I baked you blueberry cheesecake."

He nearly dropped his cigarette. "Why, thank you," he said, accepting the pan with a smile. "I didn't expect anything, ya see."

"Don't be silly," Bella told him, grinning. "In any case, I'd best be getting back. Lars and Antonio don't want me out too late," she admitted, rubbing the back of her head.

"Ah," said Carlos, snuffing his cigar out. "Smart boys you live with. Heard of the neighboring kingdoms' assassins lurking around."

She frowned. "Assassins? Lars told me of outlaws, not assassins."

"You never do know." Carlos shrugged and motioned for her to wait while he took the blueberry cheesecake inside. "I'll walk you back, Bella. Dangerous for a lady to be walking around alone these times."

Bella turned surprised green eyes on him. "Thank you," she said.

They walked in companionable silence until her front door, when she'd rapped smartly on the hard wood. Lars opened two seconds later, a heavy club in his hand. "Bella," he breathed, seeing her surprised, thin frame on the doorstep. "And Carlos, as well." He motioned for his sister to come in. "I thought–"

"Bella," Antonio cried, leaping up from the dining table with a quick, elegant grace. "We were worried."

"You didn't have to be," she said. "You know perfectly well I can take care of myself, Anto–"

He cut her off by trapping her in a hug. "These are trying times," he said in her ear. "You know I couldn't bear to lose either of you. Especially with the spies around..."

Bella blushed – who knew she was capable of it? "I can take care of myself," she repeated softly, thanking the heavens that her brother's back was turned.

"I'll go on ahead," Carlos was saying at the doorstep. Antonio released her and set about clearing the dinner dishes as soon as Lars bid him goodnight.

Bella stood there, dumbstruck.

* * *

She came home the next day in a flurry of worried faces and panicked arms. "Carlos is missing," she announced.

Lars dropped his fork. Antonio spit out his tomato juice. "_What_?"

"I went to deliver some cupcakes," she said, "since it's his birthday and all, and he wasn't there, and Maria said he never came home last night."

"Isn't that his next-door neighbor?" Lars said. "That nice young lady who moved in two weeks ago?" In spite of himself he smiled.

His sister hit him on the head.

"How?" Antonio said. "I mean, sure he and I haven't been on good terms lately, but that's just ridiculous."

"I don't know," she cried. "I shouldn't have let him come with me last night."

"Don't be stupid," said Antonio angrily. "What if we had lost you, too?"

She said nothing.

* * *

The door to Maria's cottage was slightly open. Inside, Bella could hear the light summery sound of a guitar and a clear soprano voice. Maria had a lovely voice, and when Bella closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift away, she could remember gentle hands and a sweet singing voice from long ago…

She shook her head. "Maria?"

The playing stopped and Maria herself came out to meet her. Somehow, with her lithe, tanned figure and sharp features, she reminded Bella of a lovely little elf.

"If it isn't Bella!" Maria greeted her with a wide grin. "I see I haven't exactly shown you the house, huh. Come on in! My sister in the South sent me some tea, come on in and have some…" Whistling cheerfully, she turned around and began walking towards her kitchen.

Bella flushed. "That wasn't why I came."

Maria paused and all Bella could see what her stick-straight chocolate hair against the white of her dress. Without turning around, she said, "Is that so?"

"Yes. I was going to ask about Carlos."

The other girl turned around, her expression neutral. "I've told you and your brother and Antonio all you need to know. He never came home last night."

"How do you know such a thing?" Bella asked.

Something flickered in Maria's eyes. "We were going to see the fireworks in the town square. It's the Great Mage's birthday, you know."

Bella paused. "Is it–?" Right smack in July? Her brother and Antonio hadn't told her. But then again, knowing them, they probably forgot.

Maria nodded. "For someone living here for the past eight – nine? – years, I assumed you knew."

"They just recently changed the Great Mage," Bella snorted. "Like, last week."

"That's true." Maria moved closer. "But I did expect you to keep up with the times." She sighed. "In any case, Carlos didn't come home. I checked his house, and it looks perfectly normal. No sign of breaking and entering or anything."

"Have you reported it to the military?"

Maria shook her head. "I was just about to do that, actually."

Bella stopped. "I'll go with you."

"No need." Maria gave her another dimpled smile. "I'll go by myself."

"The nearest town with a police station is four miles away," Bella said evenly, looking the other girl straight in the eyes.

Maria smiled again. "I can take care of myself."

Bella didn't tell anyone, but a slight shiver ran down her spine.

* * *

Outside, the sun was setting. Lars had gone to have a talk with Maria, deciding that her statements were utter bullshit and needed to be investigated. Before he left, knocked his sister on the head for not bothering to go to Carlos's house to investigate, leaving her alone with Antonio.

Antonio downed a glass of milk. "Lars not back yet?"

"Nope," said Bella. A tad absently, she added, "Maria went to Brussels to tell the police. She said that if she weren't back by sunset, we should panic." She almost chuckled dryly. "I asked Lars to check up on her. I was sure he'd be delighted."

Antonio raised a perfect, chocolate eyebrow and, for once, ignored Bella's joke about Lars' younger-woman fetish. "Ah, Maria. She's always been like that, you know. Always believed she could do things herself." He poured himself another glass of milk and added, "She believed she won the world."

Bella nearly dropped the plate she was washing and stared at Antonio. "You knew her?"

"I did." Antonio smiled his signature sunny smile. "From when I was young." He said nothing more, and Bella knew better than to press.

"What was it like, your childhood?" she asked, realizing that she'd never really asked that question before. It was always Lovino, and Antonio usually never answered the younger boy.

He didn't say anything for a while, instead lifting the glass of milk and putting it down on the hardwood table several times, watching it leave rings of water. "It was very active," he said quietly. "We…did a lot of things. There were a lot of us. Me, Maria, and others."

Bella fixed her green eyes on him. "You are an orphan."

He sighed. "Yes. I was an orphan. We were orphans. We were always together."

"Then," said Bella. "You feel the same as I do."

Antonio stared at her, his lips slowly curling into a frown. After a pause, he said, "No. I don't. You had – have – your brother. I never really _truly_ had anyone."

There was a short pause.

"It's the Great Mage's birthday," Antonio said cheerfully, as if the last three minutes had never happened. "Funny how they never throw any parties, huh. They just set off fireworks and it's over. Weird, huh?"

Bella eyed him strangely. "Yes it is," she said softly. "Yes it is."

* * *

Somewhere out there, Gilbert's childhood friend was feeling acutely miserable.

"Zwing-lee?"

"What do you want?" was what he meant to reply, but since his face was buried in the table it came out as "Ughhulldzzz?"

Gilbert came closer and poked the back of his neck.

Vash flinched. "Don't _do_ that!"

Gilbert came over and sat down next to him. "Did Liza talk to you yet?"

"No."

His companion cupped his chin in his hands and set his elbows on the table. "Look, dude. If you're worried about Roderich Edelstein, I've met the guy, and I'm pretty sure he can take good care of Liza–"

"It's not _that_!" Vash exclaimed (lied). "It – it's just that I'm hurt that she never bothered to tell _me_." Lie. But anything to get Gilbert off his back. Roderich was something he shouldn't know about. Something especially Elizaveta shouldn't know about.

Gilbert frowned. "Look, man. I'm not usually going to play the part of understanding best friend, but for you, I'll make an exception." He stubbed the back of Vash's head. "You are a _Zwingli_. Your family is supposed to _hate_ mages. Roderich is a _mage_. By transitivity, what does that mean?" He laughed. "Liza didn't want to get you upset."

Vash said nothing.

Gilbert sighed. "No news on Liesel?"

Liesel's brother shook his head.

Gilbert almost smiled. "Is that why you're feeling so down, buddy?"

The shorter boy raised his head from the table. "What do you think, dumbass?"

His companion groaned and glanced at the calendar and something clicked in his head. "Oh. Today's the twelfth."

"That's right, Beilschmidt. Congratulations. Today's my sister's birthday."

* * *

**A/N: WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN**

**WHY YES RODERICH AND VASH WERE IN LOOOOOOOVE UNTIL RODDY BROKE HIS HEART**

**No, not really. Maybe. No.**

**Okay, okay, so maybe it was obvious Liesel was the Great Mage from the beginning. But I wanted to get rid of that one so I only have three more identities to conceal. |D Vash, Liz, and Gil don't know, of course. Actually, nobody really knows. 'Cept the war council, which by the way will meet next chapter yay.**

**Her birthday is July 12, btw. **

**Maria is OC!Mexico. She's going to be fairly important, but not so important that it's going to drastically change the course of the story.**

**Oh, what the heck. She **_**is**_** going to change the course of the story, but what I mean is she's not going to be a main character. By now it should be fairly obvious Elizaveta is going to be pretty important considering she's appeared in three chapters and is mentioned in a lot of the ones she isn't in. **

**Uh, yeah. Sorry for the late update, I guess?**


	10. Interlude: The War Council

**To the Stars**

**Interlude – The War Council**

Tino is there before everyone else, as per usual. Berwald has had to have another word with his generals (really, noble or not, the elder Beilschmidt really could be a problem) and Lien and Sunan are probably off somewhere in the cafeteria chattering off to each other and making everyone think they were a couple. It's quite cute, almost, and it would have been almost _precious_ had they been around seven years younger, because although neither twenty-one nor twenty-three would be what one would call old, it's already old enough in this country of arranged marriages and youth valuing.

Arthur is late visiting his friend the engaged nobleman – if Francis Bonnefoy weren't engaged himself, and if Tino didn't know any better, he would say those two were engaged, the way they bickered but always ended up together. The Queen is going to make a belated entrance, she's belated more often than not nowadays, and there are rumors of the Prince having to ascend the throne soon because of her health problems. Tino knows the prince more or less personally, he's a relative of Tino's old friend in the north. And speaking of the North, the trains going to and from the North are delayed because of bad weather. And the Wizard of the North is on one of those trains.

As for the other three mages, Tino really has no idea.

"Should show more responsibility," he mutters to himself. This country was going to _hell_ at the rate they were going.

The door to the meeting room swings open.

Speak of the devil, and he will pay you a visit. One of the Great Mages was standing in the doorway.

"Tino!" she called, her voice happy. "It's been a while."

He greets her as is appropriate for a female of her status and sooner or later they've both grabbed a cup of espresso and are sitting down at the long table.

"I thought you'd be late," he says, grinning. "How are things going?"

"Oh, _great_," she says, clasping her hands together. "Actually, its' been great for all four of us. We may be new on the job, but I think we're doing fine."

_That's because you haven't seen any huge action yet,_ he thinks dryly, but knows better than to say it out loud and keeps it to himself. Out loud, he says, "That's great. I know Arthur and Lien knew what they were talking about when they selected you."

A flush graces her cheeks. "Thanks." Looking away, she asks him nervously, "Is the meeting about to start?"

"Actually," says Tino, keeping his tone amiable, "It was supposed to start five minutes ago. But the Queen's late a lot, lately, and they say it's old age. Lien and Sunan are off somewhere together as usual, Berwald is talking to his forces, Arthur's at a friend's house, and I really have no idea where the other Great Mages are."

The girl brings a hand to her mouth. "Oh, my."

"But enough of that," Tino continues evenly, amusing himself by stirring patterns into his coffee. "They'll show up soon enough. Is this your first visit to the Capital?"

She blushes. "Actually, no," she admits. "I–"

The door swings open a second time in the last ten minutes, and this time it's the captain of the mages and the captain of the assassins. She and Tino turn to look at them.

"Good morning, Tino," says Sunan, keeping his smile cheerful. "Is this the West's new Mage?"

Tino is about to say that it's five past noon and it's no longer morning and they're both late, but then again Easterners are late a lot, and Lien interrupts him anyway. "Yes, it is," she says. "Welcome to the Capital." She gives the girl a knowing wink. "I hope you'll have fun during your first council."

"Thank you," she replies. Before she can say anything else the door swings open a third time.

"I'm – sorry," says Arthur, panting. "My car broke down in the middle of the road and I had to run." He looks down at his suit smeared with dust and dirt and swears loudly.

Sunan and Tino allow themselves to give easygoing laughs. Lien giggles. "You poor thing," she says. "Let me fix that up for you."

Before Arthur can protest she snaps her fingers and Arthur's clothes are as clean as they would have been had they been straight from a Laundromat operator (although this was before Laundromat operators).

"I could have done it myself," he growls, a teasing glint to his green eyes. "I'm not the Royal Mage for nothing, Miss Nguyen."

"One must never turn down a lady's offer," Lien sings out, although it's only Sunan who notices that she winces slightly at the mention of her last name. "Besides, you should be thankful I didn't turn your suit pink."

Arthur glares at her.

Lien glares back.

They burst into laughter again.

"Really, I must consider sending my laundry to you, instead," he says.

"What am I, your maid?" Lien snorts. "Really, you men. Can't live a day without needing women to do _something_, can you?"

The West's Great Mage stares at them in awe. Was it really like this among the top dogs of Fantasia – just laughing and joking around like normal people?

* * *

The Mage of the North arrives soon enough with the Mage of the East in tow, and they're both tired, pretty faces embarrassed at their lateness. The Mage of the South arrives with a flickering smile on his face, softly apologizing for his lateness because he got sidetracked by certain things. It's the Queen, though, whose lateness in quite inexcusable, because she _is_ the Queen and they _are_ meeting in the castle where she _lives_, and _she_ didn't have to travel from another province or run from another appointment.

But she's the Queen, so they excuse her anyway.

She likes to joke about being the only one – aside from the panel of Royal Knights, of course – among them who isn't anywhere near young, and that their generation must be one full of geniuses because they're all taking over at such young ages. Tino doesn't say it out loud, but he knows that she has a point: between himself (he isn't any older than Toris), Berwald (barely twenty-five) the four Great Mages (all of whom are either still in or barely out of their teens), Lien and Sunan (who are twenty-one and twenty-three) and Arthur (twenty-three) her age of sixty-one isn't young at all.

This is usually followed by a somber overtone, because she'd had the Prince late in life and she'd spent a good early chunk of that life worrying about the lack of an heir. Her husband the King had died a few months after Toris' birth because of an illness, and she'd given the boy everything she could to make up for lack of a paternal influence in life (a few meaner critics say this is why the prince is such a wimp, but Tino declines to comment on the matter, because he's seen the Prince in action and he's anything but wimpy). She hasn't been in very good health lately, one could tell that from her paler-than-a-Northerner skin tone and the frail way with which she seems to carry herself. Tino wonders how the Kingdom will be like after Toris ascends the throne. It would be very different indeed.

The meeting starts soon enough, though, once Berwald pushes the double doors open muttering about stupid Gilbert Beilschmidt, and Tino pushes those thoughts out of his mind and projects the sweet, smiling young man everybody's come to love. More or less.

It's hard to keep that façade up once they start discussing the nitty-gritty stuff.

"First agenda," says the Queen regally, once they're all done saying the formal stuff – _introductions, may this meeting be safe from prying ears, blah blah blah – _"The issue of the dragons. How are they?" She looks each of the Great Mages in the eye.

"We can't control the dragons," says the West's Great Mage. She isn't the youngest Mage in history, yet, there was one a couple of centuries ago who was half her age, but Tino can't help feeling sorry for her.

"Agreed," the East's ascertains. "I have tried every prayer I know, and Zephyr won't calm down. He's sent hurricanes down in the Northeast and the West might have seen a lack of wind lately." Looks of almost-apology are sent to the Mages of the West and the North.

The North's Mage nods. "Thetis isn't about to sit down and sleep either. I apologize for the droughts in the South."

"No problem," the South's Mage says. "It's always hot down there anyway."

"Why?" asks Berwald. "Th's hasn't h'ppened in F'nt'sia's h'story."

"Elemental imbalance," says Arthur. "Probably. My guess is that there's something in the kingdom that's throwing them off."

"Something evil, is that what you're saying?" says the Queen.

"Perhaps. It's too early to know."

"But I can sense it," says Lien. "What he's talking about, I mean. There's something. Something wrong."

"So can I," says the South's Mage. They say that out of all the Mages he is the one most in tune with his region.

"But what do we _do_?" says Tino. "It's not like we can kill them off or anything."

"We can't," says Lien in a low voice. "But we can put them to sleep."

The other members of the council turn to her in interest.

Her sibling nods earnestly. "It's a Wang family secret," the East's Mage admits. "It's taught to all mages in the family, although technically only my brother Yao and myself have been able to master it in recent years. Or so they say, I haven't exactly got a chance to try it out yet." A shy chuckle coming from Lien's direction, and the Mage continues. "It's a very complicated, dangerous spell that hasn't been used for centuries. Performing it takes three to four days. It puts the dragons into a deep sleep and seals off all magical activity in the country."

"Is there a counterspell?" says the Mage of the North.

"There is," says Lien. "It's just as complicated as the spell itself, and again, only our family knows how to do it."

"I actually kind of like the idea," says Sunan. Lien stomps on his foot.

"But that's exactly the problem," Tino reasons. "By sealing off all magical power, our military will be weakened considerably. We will be more vulnerable to attacks from neighboring kingdoms."

The Queen shoots him a look. "We will discuss that later. Anyway, are there any other suggestions?"

"We could always keep trying to control them," says the Mage of the West. "But that would require more and more complicated spells. And magic does drain away our physical strength if we rely on it too much."

"That is true."

The North's Mage again turns to his Eastern counterpart. "Can the spell be extended to encompass the surrounding kingdoms? To render their magic useless as well?"

Lien considers this. "The boundaries between the countries are sealed with magic," she says. "And the four neighboring kingdoms have their own source of magic. Their own magical beasts."

"Although," her sibling pipes up. "It is possible. Probably. But performing it will take much longer, perhaps up to a week or two, as we have to worm our way through the boundaries and weaken their own magical beings. And I can't just nullify their magic. To do that I have to neutralize our own, too."

The council frowns at the unsaid words. _And I could die from doing that_.

"Let's not forget about the threat that's causing them to stir in the first place. What if it isn't magical in nature? Cut off all the magic, we'll have virtually nothing except physical force to defeat it." Sunan leans back and folds his arms.

Lien sighs. This is going to be another long one.

Tino should have expected they wouldn't get much done on _that_ agenda. After debating over the issue for another hour, they call a recess and work on another problem.

* * *

"And then there is the agenda of the neighboring kingdoms," says Sunan a few coffee breaks and bathroom breaks later. "I haven't exactly told anybody about this–" at this everybody's hands seem to tighten around their coffee mugs – "But yesterday a message arrived in secret from the kingdom to our east. If we don't hand over the Eastern Cliffs in the next two weeks, they invade."

Arthur appears to spit out his coffee, but straightens himself up. "Excuse me? How _rude._ And undiplomatic."

"That was precisely my reaction," says the Queen, bringing a hand to her forehead. "The advice was to hand them over. What alternative do we have?"

"Why do they want the Cliffs?" asks the Western Mage.

"Resources, my dear," says Arthur. "The Cliffs are rich in gold and other precious metals. The enemy kingdom's economy is pretty much crap right now, so they are in need of more resources."

"And we can't just send them aid?" says the Northern Mage dryly. "We may not be allied, but it will prevent the oncoming war. And who says they can overcome us – _Fantasia_ – in their economy's weakened state?"

"If they are allied with the kingdom to our North, they can," retorts the Mage of the South in a rare out-of-character moment. "Which they _are_."

"To let them take the Eastern Cliffs would be disastrous," Tino affirms. "We must do _something_."

"Like what?" asks Sunan. "The Cliffs are a very strategic place of land. They border the entire Eastern province – as you all know, beyond them is just the Fantasian Strait. With it they can easily take the East, and then invade the entire country."

"That's why we fight," says Arthur crossly. "And we cannot lose."

Berwald's hand hovers over his cup. "I'm all f'r h'nding th'm over."

"If you think about it," Tino cuts in, "The Cliffs are very precarious – they are almost like a mountain range: hard to scale, hard to get through. Merely handing them over without a fight will delay the oncoming war."

"And have enemy soldiers in the East? I am against it," says the Eastern Mage. "Who's to say they will not invade _after_ they get the Cliffs?"

"The kingdom to our east is a kingdom of their word," Tino replies despondently.

"_Word_," spits out the Eastern Mage. "What good is word anymore?"

"I say we take a vote," says Lien hurriedly. "All in favor of merely handing over the Cliffs, raise your left hand."

Tino, Berwald, Sunan, the Southern Mage, and the Queen raise their hands.

"All in favor of retaliating, raise your left hand."

She, the other three Mages, and Arthur raise their hands.

"It appears we have a tie," says the Queen sadly. "Very well. I change my vote. It would be easier to repel this threat immediately."

Berwald nearly drops his cup. "Are y' s're, M'jesty?"

The Queen fiddles with the gold band on her left ring finger. "Yes. We may very well be going to war."


	11. Peter

"Chavdar! Hey, Chavdar!"

The brunet young man turned around to see a little boy around half his height jumping up and down. He groaned.

"All right, Peter, what is it? And this is a school hallway, be quiet." He really shouldn't have hung around waiting for some teacher to catch him.

The blond boy grinned, his blue eyes sparkling – his blue eyes were the bane of the green-eyed Kirkland family, they always did wonder where he got them from – and said, "When are you leaving?"

Chavdar put a hand to his forehead. "Tomorrow, actually," he said. "I have a sick aunt in the City and Charlotte needs me to come there anyway. That little girl's plotting something again, I'll bet."

"Huh? Don't call Charlotte little! Then what does that make me?" Peter jumped higher and Chavdar felt the urge to hit him. _But,_ he thought to himself, _this is just Peter Kirkland. He's just a little boy and he doesn't know any better. And besides, his brother will be after my head if I do anything_. Man_, it must be _sweet_ to be related to the Royal Mage, huh._

"Just kidding, squirt." He patted the younger boy's head almost affectionately. "You're going home tomorrow, too, right? It's the last day for leaving for summer break, ya know. Otherwise you're stuck here for the next two months."

Peter looked down, and all of a sudden Chavdar softened. "Peter," he said, bending down, "You _are_ going home, right?"

"I don't think so," he said softly. "Big sister Erin and big brothers Lloyd and Scott are off in other countries, and that jerk Arthur is too busy to bother himself with his fancy Royal Mage duties to bother with _me_. Cousin Mary doesn't really care. One day, when I become Royal Mage, I'm going to kick his ass and I'm gonna send him to some school in the middle of nowhere and never come to get him ever!"

_Okay, okay, I take it back. Not so sweet being related to the Royal Mage_.

Chavdar sighed. "Okay, kid. You grew up in the City, right?" When Peter nodded, he continued, "When was the _last_ time you've been to the City?"

"Two years ago."

Chavdar paused. "Well, now." He was about to say something else when a booming voice interrupted him.

"Angelov! Kirkland!"

Peter turned and started waving. "Sadiq~!"

The masked teacher groaned. "That's Professor Adnan to you, young man," he growled. "What are you two doing loitering around on the premises, anyway? It's after hours, you two should be in the dormitory by now!" He made a shooing motion with his hand. "Go on, boys. Shoo before I send both of you to the principal's office."

Chavdar grinned and stepped up to the professor. "I'm sorry, Prof. I understand that being a professor of fire magic is very tiring, and I know that it must be taxing for you to be hanging out around the school on the onset of summer break, and Mr. Kirkland and I know that you would rather be relaxing at home listening to the radio than hanging around, so we offer you our sincerest apologies, and would you like us to walk you back to the faculty center? Perhaps Professor Hassan would like your company."

Sadiq seemed to soften at this, but frowned and retained his hardened expression.

"Those smooth-talking tricks of yours won't work on me, young man, now get out before I fry both your asses–" was what he would have said had Chavdar not cut in smoothly.

"Perhaps we can get you a cup of coffee to go with that? It _is_ getting late, after all."

"But Chavdar, I wanna go back to the dorm…"

Chavdar glared at the boy with a look that clearly said _shut it before we get sent to the principal's office, boy_.

Sadiq held up his hands. "You know what? You're right, Angelov. It's getting late, and I do want to go home. And taking you brats to the principal's office is going to take time and I do not _want_ to waste time that could be better used in a nice, long, hot bath and reading the paper in front of the fire." He looked pointedly at both boys. "Now get moving before I change my mind."

"Yes sir!"

Sadiq watched them go. "And Hassan's not even _here_," he grumbled.

* * *

It wasn't that the Southern Academy for Sword and Sorcery was a _bad_ school per se, on the contrary, it had a splendid system. It was just that the facilities could have used a little makeover. It was an old school, but prestigious for producing some of the kingdom's most talented people: Roma Vargas, for example, an esteemed Royal Knight, along with Mr. Hassan's mother, rumored to be a strikingly beautiful woman. Mr. Adnan and Mr. Hassan had also gone to the Academy, and they'd both turned out fairly well (despite Mr. Adnan being older by at least twelve years, they were good friends). Chavdar had a great roommate once: a certain Heracles Karpouzi, whose mother was Mr. Hassan's mother's best friend, and who was such a talented wind mage user that he'd skipped a grade and was now walking the East honing his skills.

Or something.

In any case, the dormitories needed serious help. The beds were squeaky, the windows wouldn't lock, and the paint was peeling off some of the walls. Chavdar _swore_ he'd seen a rat in the bathroom once.

"How do you _do_ that, Chavdar?"

Peter sat on the bed opposite Chavdar, the latter's roommate having left for his home in the West earlier that day.

"Do what?" The dark-haired boy looked up from the book he was reading.

"_That_! Talk your way out of everything!" Peter grinned widely. "Every time I try that with Jerk Arthur it never works. I always got sent to my room. Well, when I was at home, of course. Now I'm just stuck here and Jerk Arthur has to visit me once every month, even if he never comes down here. Ha!"

Chavdar glanced at the boy, who seemed to be all right with his present situation. Nevertheless, he asked the boy, "Peter, you do realize that we're the only two students left in school, right?"

"Duh."

"And that when I leave tomorrow, you'll be left alone here for the next two months? And they're not going to let you out without a written consent from your guardian?"

Peter's face suddenly fell. "I know. But that's all right. I did it last year. And the year before that. I can handle it. And Jerk Arthur's always too busy to handle me anyway."

Chavdar frowned. "Do you feel like going home?"

"I guess. Why?"

The older boy smirked. "I have a large suitcase there," he said. "Well, not large, but it's big enough to fit a twelve-year-old boy. How 'bout you try sitting in it?"

Peter frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Peter, you're going home."

* * *

Peter didn't know what was more uncomfortable: the fact that he was crouched uncomfortably, clutching his things, in Chavdar's big, black suitcase that smelled like moth balls, or the guilt hammering in his chest at the fact that Chavdar had smuggled him out of the Academy and that he was going home.

He was _going home_!

He'd gotten really nervous, once, when some officer guy asked to check his bag because Chavdar was suspiciously carrying a lot of things for someone just going home for the summer.

(_It wasn't _too_ much, _he'd tell himself, _Chavdar's only carrying two duffel bags, a backpack, and this suitcase thing_, Peter reassured himself, _but then again, that is kind of a lot of stuff, huh.)_

But as usual, Chavdar had managed to smooth-talk his way out of it.

("Oh, Mr. Officer. I've been away from home all year, I go to the Southern Academy, perhaps you've heard of it? In any case, the duffel is full of presents for my handicapped sister and my poor mother, who's working her back off in one of the City's factories…")

Looking back, the story was absolutely ridiculous. Chavdar came from a wealthy, affluent family (_but then again, didn't most of the people in the Southern Academy_), his mother was the owner of their oil company, his father was successful in politics, and he was an only child. But from inside the suitcase, Peter could almost see Chavdar's face: absolutely, totally convincing – so convincing that the officer believed every word of it.

He should have gone into theatre. Perhaps there would be a use for his fire magic there. One never knew.

Peter hadn't remembered the train ride to the City being quite this long. But then again, it was easy to consider a ride short when one was in a comfortable first-class train seat than in a dusty, old suitcase in the dark luggage compartment.

For a second Peter's heart hammered in excitement. What would Jerk Arthur say _now_, huh? Now he'd have no choice except to keep Peter with him. Served him right for just abandoning his (_only!) _little brother in some dumb school in the middle of the South. If only Jerk Arthur knew what it felt to be the youngest kid.

Oh, wait. He _had_ been the youngest kid. He had been for twelve years. Then Peter came along. A delightful mistake to surprise their parents in their middle ages, Lloyd had said sarcastically. Peter had been kind of hurt. Delightful, yes. But mistake?

It wasn't that Peter's life there at the Southern Academy had been unhappy. For the most part. He'd known a little girl once, a darling brunette thing named Emily, who'd also gone to the Southern Academy, with one big side ponytail and a million freckles and a big smile that was like the sun. They'd been, for the most part, friends. She was the only kid in his class he could talk to, and she'd tell him about her awful older brother and how he was always blathering about adventure, and he'd tell _her_ about his awful older brothers _and_ sister, about how they were always ignoring him, and so on and so forth. Then he heard somewhere that her family had fallen into disgrace, and one day she'd just…disappeared.

He never did find out what had happened to her.

After that he'd befriended an older boy, a friend of Emily's, named Giuseppe Vargas, a womanizing young man with a bright smile and a signature way of speaking. He was reportedly a grandkid of _the_ Roma Vargas, and never hesitated to rub it in Peter's face (at which point he'd shoot back that he was _the_ Arthur Kirkland's brother, but that never seemed to work). Giuseppe had then transferred to the City, presumably. That had been last year, and Peter had spent a lot of the current year alone. (On another note, Chavdar had liked bullying that one cousin of Giuseppe's.)

Peter never really liked being alone.

The suitcase was jolted and Peter went "Ow."

Again, he felt that stab of guilt. Would Jerk Arthur even _take_ him? What if he got so mad that Peter snuck his way to the City (_even if it was Chavdar's idea_) and turned him out on the streets or something? Peter sucked in his breath. Arthur was his brother! Surely he wouldn't?

But then again there was a reason Peter called him 'Jerk.'

The train slowed to a stop and through the thick cloth of the suitcase Peter heard a man announce that they had arrived at the City.

* * *

"Hey, Chavdar."

"Hmm?"

"Hey, wasn't Charlotte reading that book? Anyway, could you just leave me a couple of blocks away from the house? I don't think…"

"Peter, I think that your big brother's less likely to turn you out on the streets if you have an adult with you."

"But you're only seventeen, Chavdar. You don't really count as an adult."

"Shut up, squirt."

* * *

Peter thanked the stars that it was Charles who had answered the door. It was always Charles who had seen to him, and he knew that the old servant held a special affinity for the boy. Maybe that way he'd be more likely to survive.

He raised a finger to his lips. Charles nodded and smiled with conspiratorial good humor.

Charles opened the door. Peter trotted in, followed by Chavdar. How long had it been since he'd been in the house! It was smaller than he remembered (or perhaps he was just getting bigger) but it was still impressive. They were the freaking _Kirklands_, after all. Grandness was their specialty.

He turned down the large hallway to the familiar door to the sitting room. Inside, he could hear his brother's voice.

"Liesel, it was your birthday yesterday, wasn't it?"

A female voice, lively and serene. "Yes, it was, wasn't it? I didn't want to greet you _during_ the meeting, so, happy birthday!"

A male voice, this time calmer. "Happy birthday."

This was followed by a chorus of "Happy birthday"s.

Another female voice. "Thank you, guys! I–"

"Don't you want to visit your brother?" someone said. "Berwald said he was really worried about you."

"R-really?" said the girl – at least it sounded like a girl, Peter didn't think this kid was that much older than him – "I-I don't want to show my face. He might get really, horribly angry."

"Ah. I've seen him when he gets angry," said a cheerful male voice. "Horrible. He went around shooting everything in sight with an arrow. Then he slashed all the practice dummies in half. Good thing he paid for them."

"_Sunan!_" yelled the first female voice. This was followed by a yelp that could only have been somebody's foot being stepped on. "You're not helping!"

"You wouldn't tell, would you?" Peeking through the translucent glass of the door, Peter could see a pretty blonde head staring fixedly at a much taller, bespectacled one. "Berwald?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't," someone interjected. "Don't worry about it, Liesel. We won't tell a soul."

"You do realize that if he finds out that we knew and didn't tell him, we're going to have to cross our fingers and sleep with some sort of self-defense, right?"

"Oh, don't be silly. That is _if_ he finds out–"

"Peter," hissed Chavdar. "Your stuff isn't the lightest thing ever, ya know. If you'd just freaking _knock_…"

Peter took a deep breath and raised his hand to the large white door.

But before he could do anything, the door swung open and nearly hit Chavdar in the face. His brother stood there, a stunned look on his face. He stared first at Chavdar, then at Peter.

"Peter," he whispered. He hurriedly closed the door, and Peter's heart broke a little. Arthur opened the door again. "Bloody hell, I wasn't dreaming." He raised his hand to his forehead. "_What_, in the dragons' names, are you doing here?"

"Arthur?" called the first female voice, and Peter looked behind his brother to see a young woman with long dark hair and an intelligent, pretty face. "Is anything wrong?"

"Uh, nothing, Lien," he called. "My little brother who was supposed to be _somewhere else_ just turned up out of nowhere."

"Ah," said Lien, smiling. She turned to the similarly Eastern young man next to her. "Yong Soo did that once. Don't you remember, Sunan? He was supposed to be at a friend's house for the night, but then he went home in the middle of the night. Yao was getting a glass of milk, and he heard Yong Soo's key turning in the lock. He almost killed Yong Soo with a frying pan– he thought he was a robber."

The group laughed and continued their conversation, and Arthur turned to Peter. "_What_ are you doing here?" he muttered in a low tone.

"I wanted to go home," said Peter firmly. "Just sayin', Jerk Arthur, that I haven't seen this house for three years."

Arthur said nothing. "Come in, then," he said, finally, giving his brother a resigned look. "Have some tea. You haven't had the trademark Kirkland tea in a while, have you?"

Peter smiled.

"And how about this young gentleman here?" Arthur turned to Chavdar. "Care for some of the famous Kirkland tea?"

"Oh, no," said Chavdar, giving Arthur a winning smile. "I should be on my way. I have other business to take care of. See ya, kid."

He handed Peter's things to Arthur.

"Are you gonna see Charlotte?" said Peter.

Chavdar frowned. "I guess."

"Is Charlotte Beaumont plotting something?" said Arthur, giving Chavdar a probing look.

Chavdar looked at him and shrugged.

It wasn't a very convincing shrug, but then again, Arthur shouldn't have believed him. "Oh, the types of people you hang out with," Peter, he said as Chavdar walked out of the door.

* * *

"Don't you want a little quality time with your brother?" said Tino from behind him. He smiled at Arthur.

"Of course," said Lien. "I would want some should one of my brothers go missing." She smiled at Sunan. Across the table, their sibling gagged.

"Don't _be_ like that!" said the Great Mage of the East.

Liesel giggled. The Great Mage of the North started clapping. Berwald was mumbling something about a wedding.

Arthur pretended not to know them. Not that that was possible when they were having tea and biscuits in his house.

"Go to your room," he told Peter. "We will talk _later_."

* * *

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, as far away from Peter as possible. "All right, Peter. I've rung the Academy and told them you had to come home without them knowing because of an emergency. Everything's fine, although Mr. Adnan would like to have a word with you later. Now, would you care to tell me why you ran away from your perfectly nice school?"

"I _told_ you," said Peter. "I wanted to go home! Why don't _you_ try living away from your house without seeing it for three years? Not so sweet now, huh?"

His brother shook his head. "Peter–"

Peter whirled on him, eyes bright. "_You_ try it, why don't you? You think it's all smiles down there? It _isn't_! I barely have any friends as it is, and the facilities _suck_!" He was talking really fast now, and Arthur could only barely understand what his brother was saying. "And the teachers all _hate_ me! They keep telling me to haul my guardian's ass over here, and they always tell you, but you never go there! Ever! I only see you once a year at _Christmas_, and I don't even get to come home then!" He paused and tried to bite back the salty liquid pooling in his eyes. "Do you hate me, Jerk Arthur? Am I _that_ embarrassing as a brother that you can't bear having me around? Is that it? Are you–?"

Arthur struck him.

Peter stood there, silent and glaring despite the red on his cheek.

Suddenly Arthur dropped his hands and started speaking. "Peter, please understand, all right? You're better off in the Academy than you are here. Trust me."

"Why? Would _you_ rather hang out down _there_ rather than the nice comfort of your own _house_?"

His brother's face softened and he nodded, slowly.

Peter stopped talking. "Arthur?" he probed softly.

"Peter, please understand," Arthur repeated. "The Capital, you see – actually, a lot of the country – it's getting dangerous. Three years ago, it wasn't. Now, it is. The Southern Academy is fraught with spells and charms of protection from whatever this is. It was the safest place I could think for you to go."

"How can they protect us if they don't even know what they're protecting us from?" Peter asked.

Arthur sighed. "Peter, magic is much more complicated than you perceive it to be, okay? There are several very powerful shielding spells I will not go into detail about. Is that enough of an explanation for you?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess."

He thought he saw a hint of a smile on Arthur's mouth. "Good. Now get some sleep, I'm sure you're tired. Wake up early, I'll have Charles whip up some bacon for you."

"Really truly?"

Arthur smiled then. "Really truly. Go to sleep, Peter." With that, he threw his arms around his younger brother.

"Ew! Jerk Arthur, that's gross! Get off me!"

That was the first time Peter had heard Arthur laugh in three years.

* * *

**A/N: Chavdar is Bulgaria (and his name means 'leader.') I know he has no canon personality besides the fact that he likes beating Italy up (and that he thinks he looks suave in his military uniform) but what I like about these characters is that one can bend their personality while still retaining what they have in canon. My headcanon personality for Bulgaria is a jerk with a heart of gold that is irritatingly good at smooth-talking people. And he still likes hitting Italy.**

**Emily is Wy. Giuseppe ("Joseph") is Seborga. Lloyd is Wales, Scott is Scotland (oh, I'm so original, aren't I), Erin is Northern Ireland, and Mary is Ireland.**

**Hah, I'm not even sure of the state of Bulgarian-Monacan relations, let alone Bulgarian-Sealandian (/is that even a word) relations. But for the sake of this story, just…yeah.**


	12. Elizaveta II

**You know what? I suck. Took me forever to get around that "Error Type 2" thingo, and I've had this lying around for awhile.  
**

**

* * *

****To The Stars**

**Chapter 12**: Elizaveta II

* * *

"So," said Rahela Albescu, "What do you think, Elizaveta?" She held up two rolls of cloth. "Which color would you like for the drapery?"

Elizaveta stared at the girl she had known and hated her whole life and fought the urge to glare at her. "They both look the same to me, Rahela dear."

Rahela's dark eyes flashed against her pale skin. "What are you talking about? There's a big difference between _cream_ and _off-white_. And–"

The other girl closed her eyes and wondered _why_ she had chosen this girl to be a bridesmaid – _ah,_ that was right. She was severely lacking in friends that lacked a Y chromosome, and all things considered, she _had_ known Rahela for years. "Whichever one you think is fine, Rahela."

Her companion gave an exasperated groan. "Honestly, Elizaveta. If you want my honest opinion, then the white would provide a nicer contrast to that old church's dark walls. But the cream would look better if you take the floor into account. But if we consider your dress, then that's a whole other story…"

"Just go with hot pink, then!" Feliks half-snapped, half-chirped.

Elizaveta fought back the urge to laugh as Rahela fought to contain her obvious annoyance. "_Feliks_," said Rahela, pronouncing every syllable slowly, "If you aren't going to help in planning Elizaveta's wedding, then you might as well leave."

Feliks glanced meaningfully at Elizaveta, who opened her mouth to giggle, wisely decided to shut it, and then opened it again. "Feliks can stay," she said.

Rahela put a hand to her forehead. "Elizaveta, please. You still have to meet with Francis' parents to discuss the menu in like twelve minutes, and the _drapery_! Remember, dear, this has to be _perfect_. It's the wedding of the century, it's–"

"Keep the cream; it's nicer than the off-white and I like it," said Elizaveta hurriedly, thinking that Rahela should have become a wedding planner or something. Then again, she would have been a horribly stressful wedding planner.

She decided to pity Rahela's future daughter.

"But…" Rahela began.

"It's fine, Rahela," Feliks interjected. "It's like, Lizzie's wedding, remember?"

Rahela sighed dramatically. "Oh, all _right_. Now, the matter of the placemats…"

"Make them the same color as the curtains. Cream. Not too yellow, okay, honey?" Feliks inspected the nail on his index finger. "Ooh, you should totally put gold trimming. Lizzie likes gold trimming."

Elizaveta laughed. "You know me too well."

When Rahela left a few minutes later, muttering about how this wedding was going to be a _disaster _based on the apathetic stance Elizaveta and Feliks seemed to take to it, Feliks laughed. "You're totally not going to make this easy for her, are you?"

"Are you kidding?" Elizaveta eyed him curiously. "She was a bitch to me for the past sixteen years. And now that I'm marrying some rich guy – bada-boom, instant niceness. Or as nice as Rahela can get, anyway."

Feliks raised an eyebrow, looked around, and lowered his voice. "But, really, Elizaveta, have you decided on what to do about Roderich?"

"I don't know." Elizaveta bit her lip. "But trust me, Feliks, I'll figure something out."

Feliks laughed, the seriousness leaving his green eyes for a second. "'Course you will, Lizzie. In the, like, seventeen years I've known you, you were totally never one to let guys get you down."

Elizaveta chuckled politely, gathering her things to leave for the Bonnefoy manor. _If only that were true._

* * *

The night was cool as Elizaveta slipped out of the Héderváry manor. She shivered and hugged the shawl close to her body. The shawl was warm and smelled of motherhood – Ada said it was her mother's, and that somehow after at least a decade and a half of washing, it still smelled like her. Elizaveta decided that her mother must have smelled nice – the shawl, in all its pink softness, smelled like roses.

Elizaveta's mother had been a genius. That much, anyone could agree on. She'd taken the position of Captain of the Guard at the age of twenty-two, a little over half the age people normally were when they took the job. She had been ruthless, extraordinarily talented with the sword in comparison to her soft-hearted, book-loving husband, and had always been a favorite of the Queen. Her stint as Captain of the Guard had ended, though, at the age of thirty-seven, when she had died of an accident in the military. Elizaveta was in her early teens then. She didn't know the details of the accident, only that her mother had once been Captain of the Guard – a position now held by the tall, fair-haired, Northerner Berwald Oxensternia. Despite that, though, she'd never been able to spend a lot of time with her mother – she was always busy managing the Fantasian army. But Elizaveta did remember bright eyes and the voice of an angel.

Ada had shown her pictures, of course – Elizaveta had asked, demanding that as her mother's daughter she at least deserved to remember what her mother looked like. Ada had sighed. "Look in the mirror, dear, that's really all you need." It was true – the paintings of her mother were very true to life and done by very realistic, talented artists, and she did look remarkably like Elizaveta – save for her nose, which Elizaveta had inherited from her father, and the eyes of sapphire blue. Her mother had been a great beauty, everyone said. Her father got terribly upset at any mention of Elizaveta's mother – her death, in turn, had nearly killed him if Ada was to be believed.

"One of the reasons the master loves you so much, dear," Ada had said one day, in her portly, kindly manner, "Is that you look so much like the mistress did. That's the reason he doesn't want you to join the military."

_Is that it_? Elizaveta would think softly to herself. _He only loves me because I look so much like Mother did? Is that why he's just willing to marry me off_?

Elizaveta had seen a black and white photograph of her mother. It had been on the day of her wedding day, the sole day on which her mother was not averse to having her photograph taken. Her mother was wearing a simple yet elegant cream gown; her long hair was piled up on top of her head, and nothing but a jeweled necklace adorning her long neck. In the photograph she was holding the sword that had been passed down her family's line for generations, and with it, she looked like a beautiful, rebellious princess.

Sometimes Elizaveta would clutch a candid photograph of her mother, one when she was laughing: it was said that Elizaveta's mother was a serious woman who rarely smiled, but when she laughed, _truly_ laughed, it was utterly gorgeous. She would clutch a photograph of her mother and stare at the mirror, her fingers lightly touching her cheek and wishing she'd gotten to know more about her mother when she was younger.

"Are you thinking of your mother again?"

She whirled around. He was there, he was there. He was never there anymore, not since the engagement party, and yet there he was, his dark hair and handsome face half-hidden by the shadows, that familiar dark blue coat nearly synonymous with the darkness around her. "Roderich!" she gasped softly.

Roderich gave her a half-smile and motioned for her to sit down next to him. "I haven't seen you in a while," he said.

"You were never there," she whispered.

"No," he said, and he hugged her then. She stiffened. "Whatever's the matter?"

"Nothing."

He eyed her. "Elizaveta, please. You're clearly unhappy, and it would help you if you'd just tell me everything."

"Roderich," she began. She put her hands on his arms and pulled them downwards. "First and foremost, Vash isn't speaking to me. At all."

He said nothing.

"Would you care to elaborate?" She turned her eyes on him. "Please?"

"Well." He leaned back against the bench. "Vash and I have certain history," he said cautiously, peering at her from under his glasses. "But I assumed you knew that much. We were very close back then – but not as close as I know you're assuming, Elizaveta." He looked at her teasingly. "In any case, we had a…falling-out over something I liked and something he didn't like. He didn't see what I wanted my way. I suppose you could put it that way."

She frowned. "And you're not going to tell me anything more?"

"No." A ghost of a smile danced on his lips. "Any other problems?"

Elizaveta sighed heavily. "The wedding is in a week, and you know perfectly well that Francis and I don't love each other." She cringed inwardly, remembering the smiling face she had to put up for her father, Francis, and their friends. Of course, they weren't stupid. It was probably really obvious that she hated the thought of getting married. Still, their enthusiasm on choosing theme colors and food choices and wedding dress designs scared her.

"Is it wrong to marry without love?" Roderich said distantly.

"No," Elizaveta replied. "But it isn't quite _right_ either, is it?"

"Perhaps not."

They watched the stars for a moment. "I can't do anything about that, can I?"

Suddenly Elizaveta sat bolt upright. "Perhaps alone, you can't," she whispered, her eyes gleaming. She took Roderich's hand in hers. "And it's going to be foolish of me to break off the marriage, as well as offending towards father. But together, we could. Suppose I just disappear one day…"

"When in reality, the two of us are off somewhere wandering the country? Or fleeing the authorities?"

"Preferably the former, although the latter is more likely to happen. You know me too well." Elizaveta almost laughed. "And you know the cherry on top? Liesel."

"You mean your intention is to really get Vash's goat by having you disappear a week after his sister does? And they're all going to think you've been kidnapped? Elizaveta, that's a horrible thing to do."

She looked pointedly at him.

He sighed. "How do you plan to arrange this?"

Elizaveta gave him a sidelong glance. "Trust me."

* * *

_Liz?_

_Yes, Feliks?_

_This is like, a really bad idea, y'know._

_I know._

_And you know that you're dad's totally gonna flip absolute shit when he realizes what you did?_

_I know._

A pause.

_I've contacted the train people already. They've agreed to let you on. And keep it a secret. You'll be in the West in three days. From there you can go on to the other kingdoms if you wish._

_How'd you ever – Thank you. Feliks, why'd you agree to help me?_

_But Lizzie, you're my friend. Think of this like a repayment for what you've always been doing, okay? Supporting, I mean. And don't forget to write letters!_

_Oh, Feliks. It's not like I'm going to be gone forever. Roderich and I'll be back – one or two years, maybe? Or at least until Francis finds a way to get married to Arthur without anyone screaming 'scandal.'_

_Didn't you promise I'd be there for your wedding? Me and Gil and Vash and Liesel?_

_You will. I promise. No weddings on the run for me!_

Another pause.

_Lizzie?_

_Hmm?_

_Thanks. For everything. I mean, it's not easy being – _

_No, Feliks, it's not. But we're all equal. All human beings, and if they can't recognize that, can't treat you right, that's their problem. You're an amazing person, Feliks. I don't know how I could organize this without you. Thank you._

* * *

Francis looked up from his tea to see his younger sister staring at him. "Charlotte. Good afternoon."

She ignored him, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Shouldn't you be managing your restaurant?"

He laughed. "Darling, just because I _own_ it does not mean I should be there twenty-four-seven. Besides, there are plenty of perfectly capable people there managing it and I want to spend time at home." He raised a perfect blond eyebrow. "But that is not why you came to talk to me, Lottie, because you never talk to your big brother willingly, especially not over something as trivial as that. What is it?"

Charlotte frowned at him. "Do not call me Lottie. And Francis, I've been thinking."

"Yes, dear?"

Charlotte stepped back as if she'd been slapped. "Do not call me dear, either," she hissed. "But anyway, it's about the wedding."

He cracked a half-smile. "What about it? If you're talking about the apparel, darling, I've been designing my outfit since I was three years old. It's the finest tuxedo-and-dress combo you will find anywhere in the country."

She frowned again. "Francis, I am under the impression that this is a loveless marriage."

Francis' expression did not change one bit. "Whatever are you talking about? Of course I love Elizaveta, I've known her four years and she's an utter dear-"

"Not _that_ kind of love." Charlotte glanced exasperatedly at him. "Being who she is, I am sure Lady Elizaveta has already had several suitors, and it's very probable that she has loved at least one of them. And she has grown up with the Beilschmidts and Zwinglis. But she is not the point. I'm talking about _you_."

His eyebrow twitched. "Charlotte, dear - I mean, what do you mean?"si

"You don't love her, Francis. Not in the way you wish you could. Right?"

Francis bowed his head, his mane of golden hair obscuring his face. "Right."

Charlotte smiled sympathetically. "Then why go through with the wedding?"

Francis looked up and gazed at her. "Charlotte, I am sure you are well aware of the treatment a man of my..."

"A _beard_. That's your intention for Miss Elizaveta, isn't it?" she cut in, the laughter obvious in her blue eyes.

He sighed heavily. "No need to be so frank about it, sister..."

"But what of Jeanne?"

Francis' head dropped again, agonizingly slowly. He went over to the glass case on the other side of the room. Sighing, he ran his finger along the edge of the clear prism.

Charlotte eyed him silently.

Francis lifted the glass from its cherry wood basing, the latter looking as fresh and beautiful as the day he'd had it made. He set the glass down on the floor and turned to look at the object underneath it - a sword, of exquisitely sharp metal. Slowly, he ran his finger along the edges of the blade, all the way down to the handle, and he winced on seeing the name beautifully engraved around the sapphires.

Jeanne.

"She died and I did nothing," said Francis.

Charlotte's hand went to her mouth. "It wasn't your fault, Francis," she said softly. "You did what you could..."

"I _didn't_," he cried out. "I did nothing..."

"There wasn't anything you could do!" Charlotte cried. "If it wasn't for her..."

"I would be _dead_," said Francis, turning away. "That's what."

* * *

**A/N: Let's play Catch the Reference to **_**The Princess Bride**_**! Go on, you can do it. Also damn you _Gunnerkrigg Court_.  
**

**And I hate how Austria's character is so stretched. Although you could consider it a really far-fetched alternate character interpretation.**

**Rahela ("Rachel") Albescu ("son of white") = Romania. Just because. And her last name is that because vampires. Himaruya says that Romania's relationship with Hungary is frankly not that great, and I heard that a majority of Poles are either apathetic or negative towards Romanians so yeah. And there's the classic "Pole, Hungarian, two good friends" line.**

**It's canon that Poland can in fact drop his valley girl accent, which is great because I suck at valley girl accents.**

**You know, I was actually thinking of renaming Liechtenstein, because with my utter failness I realized too late that "Elizaveta" and "Liesel" are Russian and German cognates of the name "Elizabeth." But the only thing I could think of that fit her was "Elise" because I think that I have enough flower names in this (Meilan [plum-orchid] and Lien [lotus]) so Lily was out, and I don't like the names "Erika," "Sisia," or "Eva" (these three + Elise were the human names Himaruya suggested) for her. And the reason I think it's unlikely she'll end up being named Elise in canon is the same reason I decided to stick with Liesel in the end, because "Elise" is even **_**more**_** like "Elizabeth" than "Liesel." Besides, they share the first three letters! :3**

**/fail**

**R&R.**


End file.
